I sprained my wrist. For days I had no idea how and I swear the memory loss was from sleep deprivation and not vodka (this time).
I assumed it was from lugging around a 35 pound toddler and a 20 pound 4 month old. (My pediatrician says they “don’t call it fat at this age.”)
But this morning I discovered the sad truth: I sprained my wrist trying to get into my fucking jeans. And now I think I broke a rib too.
FML (that’s text language for “Fuck My Life,” not “Fat Mother Load” like I assumed the first time someone sent it to me. Though both seem to apply in this scenario.)
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