The above statement is something that I think to myself every time my husband enrolls himself in some kind of "rec." sport. I stand by this statement because I know at some point during the "season" my husband will be injured. This injury will affect our daily routine immensely but will not, however, stop him from continuing to play said sport. The injury will worsen, his groaning will intensify, and my patience will wear thinner than ever.
So it is no surprise that my last words to my husband as he exited the apartment on the way to his game last night were not "good luck," or even "I love you." With every game or practice, the final words I called out to him on his way out the door are always, "don't get hurt." If only he'd listened last night, he wouldn't look like this tonight: