Wahhh. I broke my foot.

10678819_10105379218380120_1237404805099539059_nThe title kind of says it all.  This post won’t contain mouthwatering recipes, helpful home improvement tips, or beautiful travel photography. This post is about me, recent owner of a broken fifth metatarsal, whining and complaining. If you follow my blog for those other sorts of things, you may just want to skip this post.  If you’re my mom (I know you’re reading, mom) then feel free to keep reading.

On our last night in Kansas for Thanksgiving, I stepped off the driveway at my brother in law’s house into his awkwardly placed snow drainage ditch.  My foot rolled, I fell, and the wine I was carrying exploded, leaving glass everywhere and me broken and bleeding.  And though I had glass embedded in my bleeding hand and nasty road rash scrapes on my knee and elbow, those injuries were nothing – NOTHING – compared to the intense pain in my foot/ankle.

Fast-forward 48 hours and I could still barely put any weight on my foot without intense pain. I finally got in to see the doctor, and he confirmed: it’s broken.  His recommendation: 6-12 weeks in an aircast.

Anyhoo.  So that’s all.  My foot hurts.  The cast sucks.  Having to work while broken is awful. Harumph.  But perhaps more importantly, that means you probably shouldn’t expect too many blog posts for me in the interim – I won’t be doing a lot of cooking and home improvement while injured, unfortunately.  Ah, well.