My husband Davy made dinner AND hung out with Noah in the kitchen tonight so that I could rest. Why? Because earlier today Davy accidentally slammed our car door on my arm.
We were getting in our to leave for Antwerp for a day of shopping and eating…
Davy was buckling Noah into his car seat. I opened my passenger door to get in but decided to give Noah what was left of my croissant for the car ride. I stuck my arm through the open door (from the from passenger side) just as Davy clicked Noah into his seat. Davy didn’t see my arm because he’d already turned to slam the door shut. My bicep, encased in the plush layers of down in my puffy coat, was crushed to the point I nearly peed myself but thankfully Davy heard me crying like a boiling lobster and swung open the door. The relief of pressure and newfound bloodflow to my arm was so painful, like deep and burning.
Davy asked me in shock,”Are you okay?!”
Nooooooooo I wailed like a siren.
Tears started pouring out of my eyes like lava. These were some seriously fat tears that I had no control over. Noah started crying as if on cue. He knew his mama was hurt!
And I never dropped the croissant the entire time.. Noah ate the whole thing on the drive to Antwerp. Despite my whimpering I still wanted a day out as planned.
It doesn’t matter whose “fault” the arm drama was as long as Davy made dinner.
Davy’s pizza really was delicious.
Oh, and here’s a photo of my arm, presently…
I thought it would look worse. I’m glad it doesn’t. We’ll see what it looks like tomorrow. Davy says he doesn’t think it will get much worse-looking because we all know I’m just a little dramatic.