Hello crutches, my old friend. I’ve come to clonk with you again.

I’ve been on the crutches for long about two weeks now, and let me tell you, it is not my favorite way to travel. I’m really rethinking this whole bi-pedal thing. I mean sure, it frees us your hand for throwing things at predators and also allows you to mate face-to-face , but when it comes to locomotion, it has a lot of drawbacks, like having to use crutches when you’ve got a bum foot. They’re super-inconvenient, they hurt my delicate lady-pits, and the dang things will not stay upright. Every ten or so minutes, I hear the sound of falling crutches. I don’t even have to be near them. Just a slight breath, a mouse’s hiccup, the beat of a moth’s wing will cause them to topple. I like stability in my life, and crutches ain’t it.

Which leads me to think about all the metaphorical crutches in my life. What am I leaning on that I could- nah. Just kidding. I’m not going for that low-hanging metaphorical fruit. This is not an eighth grade essay. Instead, I’d like to tell you, or complain to you in a very funny way about how difficult life is on crutches. I want to take a moment and let you know that I know I am deeply privileged. I know that crutching through life is a temporary state for me, and I know that many people don’t have the luxury of knowing they’ll have two working feet in a couple of months. I hear that. Right now, though? It’s no fun doing without a good foot, and I can laugh about it because it’s temporary. Preface over. On to the jokes. Here are a few ways crutches are the worst:

1. You can’t hold things.
   Getting things from one place to the next is nigh impossible, if the thing has to be upright, like a plate, an entire cake, or a mug of coffee. Husband is doing an amazing job of waiting on me, but I cannot get my own food to the table when I’m alone. Okay, I’m totally trying to be fancy here. I don’t eat at the table when I’m alone. I eat on the couch and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race. But even getting food to the coffee table is REALLY HARD. I’ve developed what I call the “Pacific Islander” approach to getting my food to a level surface (like a couch arm) when I’m alone. I’ll move the plate to an empty surface within arm’s reach, then crutch over two feet, move the plate to another surface, and so on. Much like the Pacific Islanders, who took their boats to a little island, settled for a bit, then moved on to another island, breaking one long trip into smaller trips via life-sustaining islands.
   
2. Laundry is impossible
   Laundry is a Sisyphean task. Prepare as I might prior to my foot surgery, laundry is the one thing that must be done each week. I can do the washing and drying, but hanging stuff up? Not possible. So, I’m a rumpled mess with two full laundry baskets of clean wrinkled clothes. I think this fits in well with the Bohemian Punk Fairy aesthetic I’ve adopted over quarantine. After all, Bohemian Punk Fairies don’t care about wrinkles and neither do I.
   
3. I can’t pick up Boychild
   This is perhaps the worst part of crutch life. I used to carry my boy to bed every night, racing Husband (who always lost) on the way. Now, he gets dipped into my arms for a kitty song, then whisked away to bed. I miss that bedtime moment. I miss nuzzling him in bed and stopping to put the covers on him before I go to bed. I know I’ll be able to walk soon, but when you have a kid, each moment you miss, even if it’s only a month or two, feels like an eternity.
   
4. Stairs? Nope.
   
5. Wow it’s Tiring.
   Y’all. Everything is twice as hard and takes three times as long. Pushing this ole body around on sticks and a leg is tough. It’s bad for the cats, too. I crutched on my cat’s paw twice while she was doing her food dance. Now every time I pick up the crutches, she hides. I AM A MONSTER!
   After all this is over, I’m going to have one giant thigh and one spindly little chicken leg. I just remembered in grade school, my friend and I would call Kentucky Fried Chicken and ask “Do you have chicken legs?” Of course they’d say, “Yes.” and we’d say “We bet you look funny!” Then we’d laugh til we cried. Ah, simpler times.

Anyhow, eff those crutches because I got a KNEE SCOOTER! Yes, children, mama has a scooter now! I can wheel around like a bada$$ these days. I don’t know why I didn’t get it sooner, because it’s saved my pits and it’s FUN AS HECK. I wheel through my house like I’m a pro. This must be what ice skaters feel like! It’s freedom! It’s amazing! It’s great! I might just keep it after my foot’s healed because I am fast, honey. I recently got my second COVID shot, and after the 15 minute waiting period, I flew out of there on my scooter, waving to the nurses and letting out a Pee-Wee Herman giggle as I went. What a way to make an exit. Yeah. I’m keeping the scooter.