We had our first football injury today. And I say "we", because I was the one that got injured. But it was because of football that I got hurt. You see, I took David to get football cleats today. Picture David and I in the store, me sitting on the bench next to him while he is trying on his cleats. He raises his leg to slide his foot into the shoe, that he is holding in his hand. He pushes his foot into the shoe, then the shoe slips out of his hand, and his cleatted-foot lands on top of my sandaled-foot. I gasp, wince in pain, grab his arm and can. not. breathe. I catch my breath and sit very quietly for all of ten very long seconds. I then get up, and limp around the shoe aisle.
At this point of excruciating pain, I am not only concerned about whether my toe is still attached, but I am also concerned about David, knowing he feels terrible. I fought off anger, my go-to emotion when I'm hurt, and patiently waited for my still-attached toe to stop throbbing. David gently asks "You okay, Mom?" Yes. I am okay. So okay, in fact, that there are no awful photos to show of my still-slightly-tender toe. Bummer.
"And the First Football Injury Award goes to Mama Keena." And I was worried about David.