However. (And this is a big however.) I am not the athlete in the family. I have no experience with "muscle fatigue" or any other sports-related ailment. I did experience stomach fatigue one time from foundering on chips and dip on a camping trip, if you count camping as a sport - which I do. And I also have that old football injury from the sixth grade. Yes, we all know the one, and it counts. Anything that involves a ball, that leaves my two pinkies looking forever gnarled and wonky COUNTS, by golly, as a sports injury. ...But, granted, muscles are not really my area of expertise. I defer to Russ in all matters muscular.
I do know Sophie is in quite a bit of pain, and I'm doing my darndest to keep her distracted while we await our appointment with Dr. Livingston this afternoon. (Dr. Livingston, who Sophie calls "Dr. Livingston, I presume" every time his name is mentioned. *giggle*) She is now settled on the couch watching "Elmo Visits the Doctor". With a heavy sigh she requested that I dig it from the archives of "baby movies", I imagine to help her draw solace in her time of fragility and great emotional distress.
To say this morning has been a challenge is a bit of an understatement.
Every request for movement is met with grimaces. Every actual movement, even the teeniest bump or jiggle, brings winces of pain and tears. It's really a pitiful thing to behold. I thought maybe some Tylenol and a warm bath would help, so after dosing her up, I carefully carried her to our tub. My theory was that the jets would maybe help ease any muscle spasms she might be having, or at the very least would help in the quest for distraction and attitude improvement.
So I lowered her into the warm water. And there she sat. Perfectly still - looking at me. Lip quivering.
I thought perhaps we were dabbling a bit in the dramatic, so I told her to just soak for awhile. "Lie back. Enjoy the bubbles. Live Mama's dream!", I told her. And I walked away.
A few minutes later the little invalid requested some apple juice. And some crushed ice! In a dolphin cup. With a hot pink twirly sparkle-straw. Drawing from my memories of not feeling so swell, I thought what the heck, I can let her be Fancy Nancy for a little while. I had her Highness throw in a "please" and obliged her request.
I walked away again and when I returned her cup was empty. Her mood seemed to have improved and the dolphin had been recruited to help assist her in transporting cups of soapy water from one side of the tub to the other. Cue the splashy giggles. Life was looking up!
I got busy doing some laundry and when I went back to check on her, I noticed that the dolphin cup was perfectly placed on the edge of the tub. And it was full of apple juice again!
"Uh...Sophie? I thought you drank your apple juice."
"Well..." Guilty expression. "You know how my leg hurts so bad, right, Mama?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Well..." More sheepish looks. "The bathroom is really far away."
Call me my mother's daughter, but I didn't get it.
"Do you need me to carry you to the bathroom, Sophie?"
Significant pause, followed by one last uncertain glance over at the cup. "Well...not anymore."
Aaaaaaand that's the end of that cup. ...RIP, Flipper. Those muscle strains will get'cha every time.