Life with twins is manic. How many posts have I started with that sentence, right?
And because they are so craycray, you can’t keep your eyes on everything at once. It doesn’t work. You drop a ball. Or two. To be fair, you don’t just drop the ball, it bounces right over the bloody fence, rolls into the next garden, the dog gets it and it’s never quite the same ever again.
I took my eyes off Ruby for a whole 30 seconds to change one of the babies exploding poos. She was swinging around on a vintage artillery shell we have in the house for decoration and it flew over and whacked her foot. Now this thing weighs around the same as me…. fully 34 weeks pregnant. It’s not light, I can tell you that. Around 8 stone of compressed metals.
BAM. One. Broken. Foot. Queue the hysterical screams! Little Harry hadn’t a clue and ran to a dark bathroom and sobbed behind a door and Emily lay on the sofa crying and covering her face. Grabbing a cold compress of smiley face potatoes from the freezer, we popped in on her foot and daddy rushed her up to the A&E department. 2 hours later, she was home. Longest 2 hours of my life…
She broke her big toe and had a lot of bruising around the rest of her foot. A day off school of being pampered and snuggled and she is as good as new. Mr Rabbit was good too!