I'm Clearly Not Meant to Have Any More Kids

I’m Clearly Not Meant to Have Any More Kids

After spending two weeks in hospital captivity and missing out on pretty much the entire British summer for this year, I came out with a zest for life and ready to live life to the fullest – short lived ambition, yes, but still.  I wanted to travel, let’s go to Spain, France, Poland – but then was reminded that we can’t go anywhere at all this summer, as our passports needed renewing and then our UK visas, oh god, our UK visas.  Our passports will be in the Home Office for months. We’re stuck to exploring the UK this summer, maybe a sneaky trip to Ireland without documentation if we’re feeling brave, but we’re stuck here, none the less.

So we went out and bought some bikes, a twin bike trailer and a bike rack for the car, with visions of us out cycling the great British countryside as a family, past castles, cottages, along the sea side and stopping to have cute picnics with baguettes and local cheeses along the way.

The bikes were picked up, the trailer put together, even the bike rack arrived yesterday so off we went for an inaugural family bike ride to the neighborhood park last night.

I fell off my bike within the first 10 minutes.

Of course I did. Now, it wasn’t just a usual fall off of one’s bicycle. My bike seat was too high and as I slowed to get through a gate behind Paul and the kids, on an incline, I lost speed and tilted to the side, trying to catch myself I fell against the gate and was pinned with one leg up in the air and being horribly violated by the bike seat. My leg was stuck up in the air, the gate and the bike had me pinned and Paul was riding away with the kids, oblivious to my yelps for help. I was able to get his attention by shouting Man Down! Man Down!

By the time he turned around to come and save me I had managed to remove the bike seat from my hooha and slither to the ground, still pinned between the gate and the bike with my left leg up toward the sky. I looked ridiculous.

It was a painful (but thankfully short) ride home and I’ve got a bruise on my groin that looks as though I’ve been in a car accident, but the girls (and Paul) had a great time. It’s quite clear that we won’t be having any more children, as if the methotrexate hadn’t already taken care of that my bike certainly just did.