I was able to take a few toddling steps the other day, and then slooooooooowly getting to more than that. I’m kinda walking like Frankenstein now, all stiff-legged and slurred foot, but do I care?!!
HELL NO!!! I’m getting around, folks! That’s all I really care about.
(are you reading this in “reading mode”? top right corner – it says, “enter reading reading mode”? – it is really the best)
Still icing the foot. Still elevating. Still taking it reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal easy. Perhaps one of the things I find myself thinking is “will I need to bring my hiking boots to Vietnam?” I know, I know; sooooo shallow of me, no? But I can’t stop myself. I would love to look a little less, um… husky. A little less… mountain mama, little more cha-cha, va-voom. I’ll take the hiking boots though, if it means I can walk, sans crutches.
And it reminds me of Fiji. You know, when I was a kid, growing up in Fiji, my brother and I would hang out by the mango trees behind our place. He’d climb the trees sometimes, shake the branches and I’d collect the mangoes. We’d eat the mangoes together, sometimes I’d bring some over to my next door neighbor’s and we’d sit and dip the green ones into a sauce that we made from vinegar, raw cane sugar, and chilis. So good.
Our chickens are completely free-range and because of that, we’ve lost about 4. One of the girls got really broody – that’s where all she wanted to do was sit on the eggs and let them hatch… poor little mama. We think that we’ll go ahead and get a rooster when we get back from Vietnam and give the mamas happy times.
(I get a little weirded out thinking of eating fertilized eggs though… )