The horror of almost forgetting to document something as important as our first broken bone.

You guys (all two of you who still read this).  I am having over-sized mom guilt about how everything is going undocumented these days.  At least over here, in a searchable-long-after-the-fact way.  I know there are people who "say" they are posting things to platforms like Facebook so that they can "reference it later," but in my experience, finding anything over three weeks old on Facebook is an exercise in frustration.



And, on that note, I'm finally resolving to begin the painfully expensive process of printing off photobooks of all these thousands of family photos that only exist in pixel form.  Slow and steady, and no scrapbooking.

But sadly, really, what I've failed at most is documenting the emergence of Bunny's personality and all the complications involved in that.  Because she is complicated.  (Duh, she's a girl, I know.) But as of late her primary characteristic is a strong blend of delight (everything is so amusing!) and strong-will-ed-ness.  It is possible, I grant you, that she is learning to act as spoiled as she is.  Sometimes.  The girl's just got so many fanboys who say "how high?" when she says "jump."

So - an obstinate streak.  Currently streaking. What do you do with that in an 18 month old?

Which is relevant because her obstinacy is largely what landed her with a broken leg a month ago.  She had sneaked into the laundry room (with its cement floor) and when Mr Renn was picking her up to remove her, she squirmed and arched in just such an unanticipated way as to cause Mr Renn to lose his hold on her and she fell. Less than 2 feet, but on a cement floor, landing in just the wrong way, and we had the minor-est of fracture types on our hands (or legs).



Four weeks and several thousand dollars later, it's quick becoming a distant memory.  But for a while I dealt with being kicked by a cast (ouch) on a regular basis and hearing the peg-legged sound of Bunny's funny little casted gait.


She adjusted to the cast in a matter of minutes and it didn't seem to slow her down one iota.  She's sort of full-speed ahead every waking moment these days, and hasn't the time to give consideration to inconveniences like broken bones.



Her comprehensible vocabulary is still very limited, but her communication skills are grand.  She signs "more" dolefully, asks for "mamamamama" over and over and over again whenever she wants anything.  Says "Daddy" with joy when Mr Renn comes home, and says "Ousch"while pointing with gusto which means "Outside" about 6,000 times every day.  Man, I wish she didn't have such a magnetic relationship with the middle of the road.  Or that I had a fence.  When she is allowed outside she has to be watched like a hawk, which is rather incompatible with my lengthy to-do lists.  We manage every day for at least a short spell, but the girl wants to live out there. Preferably smack-dab in the middle of our street.



So - first broken bone of my parenting career is under my belt.  For what it was (expensive) it was relatively un-traumatic.  No limbs dangling at contorted angles, no blood, no blood curdling screams.  Just lots of wimpering, refusal to put weight on it, and a long afternoon and evening of hospital hopping. The cast itself was a dry-cast, so we could bathe her normally, and it only restricted her ankle mobility, so she was able to walk almost normally. Quite low-maintenance for what it was.  After they removed the cast the most traumatic part of the whole thing seemed to be the surge of itchiness she suddenly experienced.  Before we could intervene she had clawed herself so badly her leg looked like it'd been mauled by a cat.  But a week later it is almost completely healed.

And frankly, we have our hands full preventing her next broken bone.  This age is so incredibly fun, and yet so much work!