Last week, I fell down the stairs while holding the baby.

We’re okay, except now I have a weak right leg to go with my useless, weak left arm.

I don’t even know what happened. I’m always very careful. We have ten thousand stairs in our house, and I slid down five of them. My knee stopped us from going further and is paying for it now. It could’ve been so much worse.

I woke up that morning thinking, maybe this week would be normal. I have no idea what that really means except that it’d be nice to have a week without doctor visits, without several wake ups a night, no car breakdowns, no 5yo nightmares, and free from bullying incidents at school. Smooth knackered parenting, I call it, where we just go about our daily routines with no glitches yet in a zombie-like state. The thought itself feels like a vacation.

But no, I had to fall down the stairs. I had clutched my baby tight on instinct. He cried, but only because he was scared. I was scared, too. I had started to go into shock; my leg was tucked under me, and I could feel the pain vibrate the entire length of my leg. I wasn’t in searing pain, so I knew it wasn’t a break. I scanned over the baby quickly to be sure he was okay, and he was, still tucked in my arms.

My knee was bleeding and throbbing, and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to put any weight on it. When I tried, I felt like I was going to pass out or vomit. I called my husband. He had just arrived at work and would catch an uber home. I rang my friend to come while I waited, knowing I couldn’t take care of my eight-month-old like this. Wincing, I had to hobble down fifteen stairs to unlock the door. It was excruciating.

The shock began to wear off when my friend arrived. I was useless the entire week. Even now, as I look at the rug burn on my kneecap, every so often there’s a sharp shooting pain around it. The scab keeps breaking open every time I sit. I should’ve gone to the doctor to get it bandaged properly, but it’s healing now.

Moments like this make me so homesick. I wish I lived closer to my parents. It would help so much if I could ring them to ask for help with the baby so I could keep my leg elevated. Or to ask them to pick up 5yo from school. Or to take the boys for the weekend so my husband and I could binge watch Stranger Things (no spoilers!). But we chose this lifestyle… we chose to live here and to do this on our own, so I can’t complain. But it’s moments like this that remind me of how hard it is. It’s even harder now with two children. That’s the knackered truth.

I don’t know how we do it, or how anyone does it who lives far away from family or doesn’t have family. I’ll gladly take any advice offered. This week won’t be a smooth parenting week either, with new challenges we’ll have to conquer in our sleep-deprived state. Next week probably won’t be a merry-go-round, either. In fact, I’m not sure smooth knackered parenting even exists.

But the thought is nice.




One response to “Smooth Knackered Parenting

  1. It doesn’t always have to be smooth. It just has to be loving. It will take a lot more than a gimpy leg to get between you and giving everything you have to our boys. That makes you one kickass mom. We love you!

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