Small mercies

After a major comedy of errors involving having to go to three different gas stations in a downpour just to get some gas, in the process losing my gas cap, getting soaked while trying to get Ewan into his friend's house, driving half an hour in blinding rain, then descending four flights of stairs and walking two blocks with my waddling self and carrying a toddler with an extra splint's worth of weight, I managed to get Fynn to the doctor for his cast. He was very cooperative, and he even picked the color he wanted. The good news is that he is in a walking cast with a boot and that he'll only be in it for three weeks. Yay! The doctor said he shouldn't need therapy at all. The break is actually not in the same place, but apparently the older one was lower on his leg, which is confusing to me because I would have bet the deed on my house that the first break was right under his knee. But you can't argue with X-rays, and there is a clear crack under his knee this time, along with a healed crack lower down. Anyway, no big deal, everything is going to be much better than I thought and nothing I can't handle. So once this baby comes, I'll be back to my regular strength pessimism rather than my maximum-strength, hyper-drive pessimism. Trust me, I deal much better with post-Cesarean pain than I do with this back fiasco.
Pizza Face in his new cast. I couldn't get a better picture - it's hard to compete with the Backyardigans.