Her 4-year old had tonsil surgery the morning before, she was groggy and running on autopilot. She had an alarm set for 2:00 AM, as to not get behind on his medicine.
After giving said medication and singing her sweet boy back to sleep, she turned to face the minefield that was left out before bed. Dinosaurs to left, Transformers to the right, toys playing music with seemingly no one around. The air was thick with lavender and lemon, spewing from the volcano shaped diffuser next to her. She had to pee.
One step, two steps, now four and five. She was agile as a peacock, making her way out of the room, then across the living room lit only by the fluorescent hue of a small indoor bug zapper. Their house was built in 1910 and the mosquitos always find a way in. Those bastards.
Finally, the bathroom door. “Its a good thing I’m a mom and can do all of this in the dark.” she thought to herself. She walked in with woman pride. Her son took his medicine like a champ, her baby is sleeping through the night, she thought of the big breakfast she would make for her loving family that morning.
Then, half way to the toilet, she felt it.
First, denial. “There’s no way that I just stepped on a toy. The kids know better than to leave their toys in the bathroom. They’re good kids. They wouldn’t do that. It had to be something else. A bar of soap that fell from the shower, a piece of the toilet that’s definitely now broken, a kitten (that we don’t have).”
Then, anger. “Of course they left their ****ing toys in here. My foot is ****ing bleeding, I can feel it. I’ve been impaled by a ****ing sword.”
Bargaining comes next. “Please don’t let it be as bad as it feels. Don’t let it be broken. Please don’t make me amputate it. I need to walk. I have kids. Sweet, beautiful angel baby children that need me.”
Then depression. “Why is this happening to me? I’ve had such a long day. Nothing is going right. I need cheese fries and a bag of Skittles to get through this, it’s the only thing that will help.”
And finally, acceptance. “Yup, my kids have betrayed me. Here I am, falling to my death, in the bathroom, in the middle of the night. My life flashing before my eyes. I haven’t even lived! Do my friends know that I love them? Because I do. I love you all. Please say nice things about me at my funeral.”
The pain that she feels is astronomical. What could it be? A knife, a tiny Eiffel Tower, a chainsaw? Something has torn apart her foot like an alligator with a chicken breast.
She limps back to the light switch and then she sees it. A small wooden block, the letter Y staring back, and the joke is not lost on her.
They always said Legos would be the worst, but they were wrong. How could they be so wrong?
She finds a bandage, a Trolls bandage, and stumbles back to bed. She climbs in, and in some sort of tiny miracle, all of the pillows are perfect. The bed is nice and cool from the air conditioner blowing on it while she was out, her husband is not snoring and she closes her eyes, almost having forgotten the bathroom incident in its entirety.
Until she realizes that she never actually peed. 😑