My seven-year-old got her cast off today. Oh, did I forget to mention that she had a cast? Because she broke her arm? (I guess that's what happens when you don't blog for a month.)
So, the clunky, bright orange, weight that was wrapped around her right arm (yes, her writing arm) for the past four weeks was finally removed. And we were all Hooray! It's coming off! Back to our regularly scheduled programing! Monkey bars! Gym class! Diving head-first down the slide!
Our jubilee was short-lived though, because we soon discovered that activities are still limited for another two weeks. Two weeks! Which, to be honest, does not seem that far away to me, after all the past four weeks went by pretty quickly and in two weeks time it'll be Thanksgiving (!!), but for a seven-year-old well, talk about the devastation.
I understand though, and if I had actually taken the time to think about it beforehand, I would not have been so surprised. Her poor little wrist hasn't been moved for the past four weeks. It is incredibly stiff and extremely weak. She and her wrist need time to regain mobility and strength before venturing on something as risky as the playground equipment.
Which is most definitely good and necessary considering how little she moved it the rest of the day today. Apparently when your wrist hasn't moved for a month it feels scarily odd to have it free and naked again. (Again, a thought I didn't even consider because well, I've never had a cast on before.)
So, we are taking it a little more slowly than we thought. Sitting out recess and gym and dance class. (Sad face.) But the cast is off! Which is still exciting.
And I am mostly thrilled because her arm can finally get a good cleaning again. No, I did not smell her cast, but she assured me that it was getting stinky, which is pretty much when I started counting down the days of removal with her.
Two more weeks. Then you can slide down the slide head-first as much as you want. Well...maybe...