Okay, so I'm not the most graceful person on the planet as it is. (My college roommate atually nicknamed me "ouch" because she heard me say it so often.) In a pregnant state, I go from bad to worse. Yes...I'm foreshadowing.
Yesterday Mitchell and I took his tricycle around the block while Chris hosed down the garage. (He likes to change the oil in our cars himself and for whatever reason, the box of yucky oil leaked this time.) I wanted Mitchell to be out of the way, so that was my strategy. The people who live by our mailboxes had a whole rack of what looked like really cute little girls' clothes at their garage sale, so on the way back around I stopped to tell my neighbor to check it out. (She has a 6 month old and a 2 year old...both girls.) Anyway, we get back and Chris is almost done but he's scrubbing and rinsing the last of it out. Now...I can't fault Mitchell for wanting to get in there and do some major splashing damage, but two things were in my mind: (a) I didn't want semi-oily shoes on my carpet, and (b) he had on his CU jersey for the game and I didn't want it all nasty. Of course he goes parading over to stomp and splash, which means he is doing his job as a 2 year old boy to a tee. With the above in my mind, I grab his hand with my left hand to pull him out of the water so we can watch Daddy work but not be in the water ourselves.
Dum, dum, dum.......
Well, I had on my flip-flops (which my husband and mother have now declared off limits to me for the duration of the summer) that happen to be like two years old with no traction. As I pull on Mitchell's hand and step backward, I have begun to slip. Now, were I not pregnant, this would have been very amusing...almost cartoon like...my feet were slipping like I was on a treadmill and I was like a sinking ship. We all knew I was going down, the question was how and when. The good news is that I had time to brace myself with my right hand, but I never let go of Mitchell (in hindsight I was thinking our little herculean toddler might actually save me) so I fell akwardly, but not very hard, on my left butt cheek and hit the tire of Chris' car with my lower back on the left side. Scared me quite a bit, but I was okay.
A couple of minutes later, I was like "You know, I think my back could hurt." A couple of hours later after sitting on the floor with Mitchell for a couple of minutes, I knew my back hurt when I started to get up. I decided to call my mom (who is a physical therapist). She had my do some little exercises and told me she'd call me when they left Boulder (they were at the CU/CSU game). She called about 1/2 hour later and told me she'd feel better if she came to take a look on their way home (oh...and we're about 1/2 hour out of the way home...she was being sweet). So, she came and looked...thinks I have a bruise brewing and that I might be sore. She wants me to call and at least let my OB know about the fall if I'm worse today. I think it's fine, I really do. I'm just such a clutz.
You know what's completely dorky? I'm really quite upset about the no flip-flop thing...and shhhh....I just won't wear them around those two!! There's no way I could cut them out completely; I'm an addict!!
p.s. - I woke up at 4:45 again. Sigh.
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