H likes to play outside in heels. I'm forever telling her not to, and she's forever sneaking them out the door. How could I ever have thought she was going to be my tomboy?
I make her compromise fashion for safety because the majority of our property is covered in rocks. Big rocks, little rocks, stone pathways, slate stepping stones... It's like we live in a quarry.
3 or 4 years ago, almost to the day, I went running down our stone pathway and sprained my ankle.
I may not remember the exact year, but I do remember sitting in H&R Block with crutches. It wasn't 2 years ago, because I didn't have a baby when it happened. It wasn't 5 years ago, because we didn't live here then.
I know it doesn't really matter, but it's bothering me that I can't remember whether this was 3 or 4 years ago.
Which is probably the Vicodin talking.
Because, on Monday, I went running down our stone pathway and broke my foot.
Maybe I should try wearing heels next time.
What did I even write?
1 day ago