Farewell To The Spica!!

It's been a whirlwind of an ending/beginning kind of year. Christmas came and left with tattered wrapping paper scattered over every corner of the house (which I am still finding...). And, to be perfectly honest, I just wasn't "in the mood" this year for it. Which sounds really, really terrible, being the birth of our Savior and all.  My countdown was geared more to seeing my little man free from the hardened legs that bound him, otherwise known as the darned Spica cast. That was all I wanted for Christmas this year.

The last few days of the cast: he mastered standing. 

The days leading up to his grand release have just been a blur. Being house-bound and a two-year-old's slave had been killing me slowly.
The New Year rolled in with no big grandeur. (I've since lost interest in staying awake until the celebratory hour of midnight since...well, the birth of our first child....fifteen years ago...)
And then. January 2nd came. For six long weeks, how I longed to wake up to January 2nd.

Thumbs up! Last full day in the spica cast!

 I found myself growing increasingly anxious and nervous in the days leading up. I knew it would be a big day; my boy being released from his cast. But, after some extensive research, I also knew it wouldn't necessarily be an overly joyous one. With Chase being bound up for a month-and-a-half, I knew his freedom would come with a price. And when they were finished the frighteningly loud sawing away of his plaster, I grimaced while picking up my boy. Sure enough, there it was. Tears. Lots of them (and not just his). It hurt all over again fresh to see him in pain once more. While he bellowed in my ear, the doctor muttered things I couldn't quite hear about him sitting, crawling and walking. Something about long baths in the tub. And keeping his brother from falling on him. And rotating his legs as some sort of physical therapy for him. (Why do they not write all this down? Honest to goodness, he had to have known I was moments away from a Mama meltdown at that point.) I scooped my little man gently, attempted to put some clothing on his body (while my Kaytlin melted in tears that he was hurting), and headed for the long drive home. I was so, so happy it was done. But...so, so nervous for what the next few days were going to look like. Although it was progress, it most definitely felt like regression, watching him hold and baby his injured leg. Just like when it was first broken.

The "yes" the doctor wrote on his leg, marking which leg was injured...still there after 6 weeks.

When we got home, I managed to get some dinner into his belly, and he sat very quietly on the couch, while twin brother declared, "Now we can jump on the mattress again!" Umm, no. No, no, Buddy. A bazillion times, no.

Not so impressed...

 I offered him what he'd been wanting for a few weeks: a warm tubby. He was hesitant at first, but after some coaxing he obliged. And when his hips met that warm water, he was all smiles.

Playing..and getting clean, too.

Still quite off balance, but sitting up straight for the first time in weeks. His poor skin flaked everywhere, leaving a thin film throughout the water. But happy, oh was he happy.

Two boys reunited in bath time fun!

He didn't move his legs much that first night, and when we tucked him in for the night, still wanted his comfortable spica position. But, when I went to get him in the morning, I found him cuddled up all cozy on his side...