Daddy Is An Idiot III: The Return of the Idiot King

So, I had the surgery today. The doctor told Hannah that it went well (I was still too drugged up to process information at that point). Then - the kicker came - not only am I in a cast and on crutches for the next 6 weeks, but I literally cannot put any weight on my foot during that time. While I was generally worthless as a father before the injury, I am now officially not only worthless, but actually a liability.

Being raised Catholic (and today being Ash Wednesday), I am experiencing two primary emotions right now: 1) a desire for my wife to be canonized; and 2) a profound case of Catholic guilt over the unintended consequences of my boo boo.

Hannah and I have always talked about having two kids, but we wanted to space them out a little bit. Now, poor Hannah has to care for two babies. One is cute and cuddly and occasionally fussy. The other one is big and ugly and whiny. But both can be crybabies.

To answer one FAQ about my boo boo, no, it really didn't have anything to do with my playing football per se "at my age" (officially 36 Friday - happy friggin' birthday to me!). The doctor told me that this injury could have happened playing any sport that involves sudden jumping, lunging, or sprinting - including tennis, racquetball, basketball, volleyball, soccer, or even baseball.

Since I am a weekend warrior athlete in my mid-30's with flat feet, I do have a few more risk factors than some. But the doctor told me that I was the fifth new Achilles patient he's taken in this month and that there's not much I could have done to prevent it - in fact , 3 of his 5 new Achilles patients were playing tennis.

That being said, I am prepared to seriously reconsider my choice of activities for staying in shape. I love playing sports and I get far more mental stimulation from sports than staring at the TV on the treadmill at the gym. But I never, ever want to go through what I've had to go through over the last 72 hours - and what I'll have to go through for the next 6 months.

It would be one thing if I was 25 and single. But now, my inability to take some of the parenting burden off of Hannah is putting more of a strain on her (Madeleine was up 4 times last night as we've tried to wean her off the car seat). And, I can't do some fairly basic things with the little girl like walking around with her from one room to another since I have two crutches. When Hannah went to the gym tonight, we had to turn the couch into my rehab center, the baby's changing table, and the feeding station - so everything was within arm's reach in case Madeleine had needs.

So, I feel awful about the whole situation. The only good thing to come out of today was that the little girl was an angel. She's starting to smile a lot more these days when she's happy. Everyone at the surgical center loved her (Hannah and Madeleine were in with me while the drugs were kicking in). It was strange role reversal considering that, five weeks ago, Hannah was the one wearing the gown that doesn't fully cover your backside and getting the epidural.

But at least Hannah had something cute to show for her labors!