My Left Foot

Look at this:

 - no, it's not a foot I stole from the morgue, it's my left hoof.  If you look closely, it's green. It should look like this:

 but it doesn't because I fractured it ...dancing. 

This is the precursor to breaking a hip in old age. It's practice for those fragile days I'm sure.  Hopefully this won't lead to a swift death like so many broken hips do (wonder why that is?) though there are days when a swift death doesn't seem that big of a deal.  No, but I jest, I wouldn't want to leave my little sea cucumber all alone with the sausage fingered destroyer of all man made things.  Don't get me wrong, he is Daddy Cool but a girl needs her mum.

Already The Lish, who is 3 gets coy when I mention a certain boy's name from daycare.  Are girls born like this? because the sausage merchant will tell you I'm about as romantically minded as a Pogo Dog on a paper plate at the Rockton fair.  So today, when I dropped the nipper off at daycare I decided to do some investigative research.  I asked the teacher who, let's call him...Chip (solid North American name)  was?  Immediately her eyes widen, indicating that my spawn has great taste.  Turns out he is a Kinder - older then her (she's only a senior), a sugar daddy if you will who comes from good stock by all accounts.  I walked out filled with Mother's Pride.

Lishy, I said, you will go far.  You may not know how to spell your name - but if you keep choosing 'em like this? you won't need to. 

Anyway, I thought about my own choices in life and for the most part, while there are some episodes I would really rather got taped over - I'm ok with them.  As a medium once said, I am a sum of everything that came before and more importantly, I wouldn't be who I am - the person I've become - the person I rather like now who knows a few people who also rather like her, just as she is and because of all she has been, said and done.  So, bring it on Chip. 

I know that all I really need to do for the nipper is love her truly, madly, deeply.  Outside of that, life is for living and she will have to make her own way, as I realise I did.  No regrets.  I hope to be here for her to a ripe old age (as long as I don't break any hips) for when the going gets a little rough, but if I'm not, she will be fine. The shitty end of fine for a while, then ok and finally really ok.

Christ, has Tim Horton's laced my coffee with gin this morning? Let me re-read the contraindications of the anti-inflammatories.  Speak soon, unless I fall and break a hip.