They say that pregnancy can make you clumsy. Again with the 'they,' and again I will ask,who are, 'they?' I suppose I am part of 'they,'because I have been pretty clumsy while pregnant. Am I clumsy when I am not pregnant? I don't think I really pay attention to that. I suppose because when you are clumsy when you are pregnant you are hyper aware of it so as to not crack the egg that sticks out in front of you. How then, I suppose, can you not be clumsy when you have this thing sticking out in front of you throwing off your balance?
When I was pregnant with Kendall, in about my 8 month, yeah real good month to fall, right, it was a cold and blustery day, and I was late for work. Without thinking for one second that there could perhaps be some ice on my front step, I charged out the front door, and after some theatrics which included some arm flailing, legs moving a mile a minute under me, and some twisting motions in an attempt to keep myself upright, I landed flat on my bottom on the bottom step. I of course sat there and cried and waited for my water to break like a pathetic loser, and nothing happened except for a really bruised backside. Kendall was still 2 weeks late.
Now you are thinking there is nothing clumsy about falling on ice, it happens all the time, but I will say this, that if did not have 20 pounds sticking out in front of me, with no junk in my trunk to even things out a bit, I would have been able to catch myself. Or would have flung myself forward onto the grass, but those that have been pregnant know, you do not by any means of the imagination let yourself fall forwards while pregnant. Things move in slow motion when you are falling while pregnant, if you didn't already know. It's as if you have time to think some logistics, 'well I am going to fall, and so if I move this way just slightly I will break my hand, but save the belly.' You are able to contort your body in all these crazy ways, if you are lucky, so that the belly is not smushed.
While pregnant with Ethan, I fell down the stairs. Oh no, it gets better, while carrying Kendall, and most likely a ton of other things because I am an obsessed multitasker like that. I have no idea what contributed to the fall, with the exception of carrying a million things and a baby, no that isn't enough. But before I knew it my legs came flipping forward from under me. In the again, slow motion movements, I knew I had to readjust Kendall so that I didn't land on her legs and cripple her for life from my weight, and to brace her and the belly for the fall. BAM! On the step. I swear my butt bone is going to break with one more of these impacts.
So onto the clumsy mishap of this pregnancy, which has topped all the others. So it was trash day. Imagine that, the trash can still sitting there, not by the curb, I might add. My husband conveniently cannot remember what day is trash day to save his life. It's like selective memory, and in just the last week they changed the collection days, so now it has only gotten worse. I am 100% certain many of you ladies can relate. There are many times that the trash is just about ready to get up and walk itself all the way to the dump before it is set on the curb. And I don't want to get into why I just don't do it. There are times I do, like this time I will talk about, but this is a man's job. And I don't care what anyone else has to say about it, there are certain things in a household that are strictly to be a man's job if there is one cohabitating with you, and taking out the trash is one of them, along with shoveling snow, and a few others.
So feeling annoyed about the trash situation I had going on that day, I decided to take it out. I had people coming over that night and smelly trash really is not make for a fine welcoming committee. But that wasn't where the problem was. The trash and the recycling were successfully put out on the curb that day, oh and again, by me, the pregnant one. You know, the one giving and sustaining life to another human being. The Merry Maids should be here daily. But then you think of the women in the fields who would just pop a baby out and keep on going, and then even just taking out the trash becomes a little prima donnish by comparison.
It was bringing the items back in that created the issue. I am always one moving with a million things on my mind. Going on to the next task with one half of my body while the other is completing the last one. This can become very hazardous, and has. So instead of using the steps, so wonderfully provided by our contractors to make life easier, I decide to grab onto one of the posts that holds up the porch that has the open space next to it. Because that was a 2 foot short cut? Seriously, because it was a two foot short cut which bypassed the chair that is sitting on the porch. So I have the recycle bin in one hand, grab onto the post with the other, pull up to plant my foot, and miss landing on the porch by a good 3 inches. This throws me off balance a little bit, and as my body wants to fall forward, directly into the concrete porch, with a direct landing on my belly, I pull forward hard and up. SMACK! That's right, face slamming into post. Awesome feeling. My immediate reaction is, 'I have lost teeth. I have lost teeth, I will not be able to get surgery because the baby can't have the medication used, and I will go into the delivery room a toothless fat person, the nurses are going to make fun of me!' I am not lying, this truly is my thought process. My second thought, also completely rational, 'I am going to kill Andy, if he had just taken out the trash this morning, this never would have happened.' Disregarding the fact that I was bringing in the empty trash receptacles that have nothing to do with taking the trash out in the morning when you really think about it. But that was besides the point, it's his man job!
So I walk inside, head spinning, lip swelling, forehead throbbing. I call Andy to let him know what happened and that if I am unresponsive on the floor when he gets home, he will know to always take the trash out for his future wives. He promptly tells me that he will hold ice on it when he gets home. I am will not even go into girls, not even for a minute.
I then decide to inspect the damage in the mirror. This is the first time I check the teeth since I am having major anxiety attacks surrounding the entire possibility of losing teeth. So I stick my tongue to where they are to be and feel resistance. Hallelujah. I then start moving them all around with my fingers to check and see if they are loose in any way. Nope. But my lip is all puffed out, and I have some cuts on the gum. Not to worry though because Andy is going to put ice on it when he gets home from work.
I move further up the face, nose will not require plastic surgery, good, good, and then there it is a goose egg sitting right there in the middle of the forehead. And then having the trash pile greeting my guests for that evening became a whole lot better of an option then this mountain growing on my forehead.
Once bruised and out in public the next day at BJ's, my neighbor, Danielle, thought that perhaps it was Ash Wednesday, I reminded her it was Friday. Her husband, later that evening, just thought I had a really good priest who got his hands on some really good ashes that didn't wash off as fast as the others. And ever since then people have asked, 'Is that a bruise and bump on your forehead?' And I get to retell the stupid story over and over again.
There are a few things I have learned in regards to this goose egg.
1. Is that they really do hurt, mine still really hurts when touched, or when I stick my head directly under the shower's flow.
2. When my children get another one of these on their heads I will not expect them to get over it in 10 minutes, more like 10 hours, or maybe even 10 days.
3. That a man's job is a man's job, let it be.