In the Pink

On Friday Kate had another x-ray related to this little ankle twist she performed while coming down the slide (on the nanny’s lap, no less!). And even though they couldn’t detect the actual fracture even two weeks and three x-rays after the event, they did see new bone growth, which means something was broken that was mending itself.

Even though she was walking on the leg again at this point–after 10 days of us using her stroller in the house like a wheelchair–she was limping. And they wanted to make sure the bone healed perfectly, and that she didn’t keep up the limp.

Yes, the poor lamb. But here I was, one eye closed still and trying to act/look normal, and having a Momentary Parental Responsibility Quandary (TM).

The thing was, a cast meant no swimming on our much-anticipated summer visit to RI. And what’s worse, we couldn’t even bring her to the beach and taunt her by swimming ourselves and not letting her in the water (my hastily hatched Mental Plan B). Nope. No sand could get anywhere near the cast. Just a couple grains in there could really be itchy/scrapey/hurty.

I actually whined to the doctor at one point. “But we’re going to Rhode Island. To the beach!”

I know, I know. Pathetic! Selfish!

But in short order I pulled myself together and went to the waiting room to wait for the “cast tech” (another job they never tell you about in school) to call us.

I happen to know you can get a variety of cast color options these days, since my nephew Rory did his fair share of bone-breaking in his younger days. When they asked me what color I wanted for Kate, my mental answer was, “Pink. Duh!” (I left the duh out when I said it out loud.)

My little Sweet Tart was so innocent and easygoing getting her cast on. There was a “big boy” of about 14 years in the same room getting a black cast. His was a skateboarding accident and I decided that was a much cooler story for Kate to use than having had a mishap on the playground slide.

In my best Kathy Lee Gifford cheerful Mom voice I cooed over the cast for Kate. “It’s pink, honey!” I said encouragingly, as I bid adieu to my Ocean State beach time. But really, she didn’t seem phased by the cast at all. She wasn’t fussing or crying. Of course, her naivete about it all made it all sadder, and made my childish summer fun lamentation that much more reproachable.

In fact, the only time she has mentioned the cast at all was that first day when Mark was putting her down for a nap. She looked at him pointing to the cast (head tilted for cuteness no doubt) and asked, “Dada, Pink off? Pink off?” Clearly all my talk about it being pink had her thinking that was the word for cast.

If I have one maternal regret aside from having asked if 14 layers of plastic bag might just make the whole beach thing workable, it’s that we went for the pink cast. As I pushed Kate out of Children’s Hospital in her stroller that day I realized the horrific mistake I’d made. We were on our way home for Fourth of July–Fourth of July!–and I got a pink cast? Pink?! What was I thinking that I didn’t request for a customized red, white, and blue number? My God, that would most certainly assure us photographic coverage in The Bristol Phoenix!

Well, perhaps I can work some miracles swaddling it in patriotic bunting. All hope for this vacation is not yet lost.