Down on McBean

I think we all can agree that few things are funnier than someone inadvertently performing a split. So put down your coffee, unless you like the feeling of blowing coffee out through your nostrils (which is sometimes even funnier than accidental splits) because that's the kind of story this is going to be.

My two year old, regular readers may recall, recently had an incident wherein he broke his teeth requiring thousands of dollars worth of dental work. This same child had been diagnosed with a VSD, ventricular septal defect, which is just scary medical speak for a relatively innocent and fairly common (as defects go) hole in the muscle wall between the two lower chambers of the heart. So, with dental surgery looming on the horizon, all parties involved (parents, pediatrician and dentist alike) thought it prudent to determine whether or not this hole was still present and if prophylactic administration of antibiotics would be necessary.

Beware the ides of March. Little did I know the soothsayer's warning was for me as well as Julius Caesar when I left the house for the pediatric cardiologist's office this morning. We got to the beautiful Santa Clarita Medical Plaza on McBean Parkway and rode the elevator all the way to the second floor, got out and proceeded to suite 200. We waited in the perfectly minimally decorated lobby for less than a minute and were led back to a bright, antiseptic examination room. The kid was a champ and the exam was over in five minutes flat. The doctor told us the hole had indeed closed and all he heard was an innocent extra heart sound which was no cause for concern, and if he hadn't been an experienced cardiologist he probably wouldn't have even heard that. Excellent all is well. Now off to Starbucks across McBean to meet my friend for her birthday coffee.

My mind was more on this friend than anything else - because she, like me, places great expectations upon the event of her birthday, but knowing the soothsayers warning, and Julius Caesar's ultimate prophecy-fulfilling demise, she is wary of the day letting her down as it inevitably does year after year. I walked to the curbside, two year old holding my right hand, six week old cradled in my left arm. Sidebar: I haven't been using my sling the past couple of days because one of the ladies from church told me she saw a bit on the news about babies suffocating inside the sling, and because I haven't had a chance to research any of this, better safe than sorry. We press the button and await the green walk sign.

The green man lights up and we begin our traverse of the ten lane parkway. Are ten lanes really necessary and how am I expected to get the three of us across in less than 25 seconds? Off we go. About half way across McBean I begin to feel pride welling up. Here I am walking at a pretty brisk pace and my two year old (formerly known as hole in the heart man) is really keeping up, and the baby is sound asleep, well done, mom. Ah, yes, here's another true saying: Pride goeth before the fall. I notice that the truck in the right turn lane, the last lane before the safety of the other curb, is really creeping up into the crosswalk. Desiring to beat both big bad construction man in his white truck and the flashing red hand's countdown from 5, 4, 3...I speed up a little. I have about five steps left, four, three...I put my left foot out. My skinny, fancy, bejeweled Judas flip-flop slips out from under me. My left leg goes FLYING out both in front of me and slightly to my left. My right foot slips behind and under me, folded in a perfect hurdlers stretch position. My rear end falls STRAIGHT down onto my right leg and foot. Instinct holds my baby tight in my arm, and raises my right hand high so as not to drag the two year old down with me. Muscle memory, from long lost athletic days of yore, presses me INSTANTLY back up on my feet and ...two, one, I reach the curb just in time to beat the red don't walk sign. Success. Unlike Lot's wife, I do not allow myself the much desired rearward glance. I do not let myself look to see who witnessed my humiliation, and who is deserving of future mental arguments against their inability to stop and help a mother out.

Instead I soldier on. I have a coffee to drink and a birthday to celebrate. I round the corner between Corner Baker and Starbucks and think to myself that could have been MUCH worse, I am so glad that white truck didn't run me over. I am so glad I was able to land perfectly on my but and pop straight up. I am soooo relieved that the two year old somehow was so focused on hurrying across the street he didn't even notice I fell, much less fall himself! And I am uber-grateful that the baby slept through it all. Push the glasses back up the nose, run a hand through my hair and walk up to Starbucks. About a minute later, searing pain starts shooting through my right big toe. And throbbing. And now I can't walk. I look down at my foot and see this:



Well not that...it didn't look like an injury, yet. It looked black, so I figured it was just a stain from the street. Moments later, while ordering my coffee (extra shot of espresso today, because I deserve it after that bit of insanity on McBean) I look down and realize the foot is swelling and I can't exactly move my big toe. In fact I should probably be at the doctor right now, but I don't really need pain meds (I mean, I would like them, and I am in a LOT of pain, but pain meds and being the mom of four active boys don't really mix) and they probably don't brace a broken toe (if it even is broken, which I am guessing it is not) plus I really needed to come home and blog about it.

I'm not sure if it is the caffeine, or the memory of what happened, or the foot injury itself, but I feel shaky and exhausted. Beware the ides of March, you may just end up down on McBean in a half split.