Ouch

Brian injured himself playing softball.  No, I am not joking.  He dove for a fly ball and hurt his shoulder (made the catch, though) and twisted his knee getting out of the batter's box.  At the time, of course, he played them off like no big deal and even when he got home was in good spirits about his injuries.  The next morning, though, was a completely different story.  He was hurting for real.  He was hurting so much that he called his parents to come take care of Rhys so he could lay low and ice.

Brian has been incredibly empathetic about the pain I've endured since Rhys' birth so I tried very, very hard to reciprocate.  But, seriously?  It was difficult.  I gave birth to a human being.  He played old-man softball.  They just aren't even in the same league (pun intended).

Rhys was a little more understanding.  He helped his dad ice.

Maybe, though, Rhys wasn't acting of sympathy.  Maybe he just was feeling guilty that we don't actually have any ice since our freezer it is chock full of breast-milk. 

In addition to taking care of Rhys, Gramma and Grandpa had to keep running out for ice. 

He's already feeling better, so I expect Brian will make a full recovery.  Maybe next time he'll remember that we're parents now - old, sleep-deprived and out-of-shape.  And, of course, blissfully happy because we've got this little guy in our lives.