Avery broke her leg. Very little evidence of the trauma remains save for the thigh-high pink plaster cast peeking out of her pants; smooshed toes poking through a tiny, camel colored boot.
In a short week, Avery has learned how to hobble and slither her way around, proud and determined. She screams, "hurt" (God bless her) at the top of her lungs, knowing I will come a-running. This, I can see, brings her great delight.
Norah, for her part, already recognizes Avery's cast as a seriously enviable badge of honor. In recent days she has upped the ante on performing dangerous maneuvers in hopes of acquiring an equally attention worthy injury.
As for me: I just want Avery to heal. I can't wait until they peel that clunker of a cast off her smelly, withered leg and I can kiss her from head to toe again.