Klutz-o-Matic 5000

As I get progressively bigger, I also seem to get progressively clumsier. Dropping things is a constant occurance. Ponytail holders and brushes fly out of my hands on a regular basis during the morning "get ready" routine in the bathroom, often causing enough of a clatter to arouse sleeping Geof in the bedroom.

What's worse than dropping stuff is having to bend over a pick it up. I no longer bend over at the waist to fetch lost items. That requires holding of the breath, which I find dizzying. My current method involves doing a deep knee bend, similar to a ballerina's grand plie except far less graceful, and slowly coming back up. Sometimes, I have to rest for a second afterwards. It's another reminder of the excellent physical shape I'm in!

Well, today, I took clumsiness to a whole new level. I was heading out the front door of our house to turn off the sprinkler, which had been watering the flowers for a good 20 minutes, when I missed the bottom step, went flying through the air and crash landed on my hands and knees on the cement walkway.

My first though was "Oh, God. Did anyone see that?" My second thought was "Oh, God. I'm bleeding!" I slowly stood up, stunned and shocked at what had just happened. I looked down to find out why my left knee was stinging so badly, and the answer was obvious. Just like a little kid, I had scraped all the skin off my knee, and it was covered in blood. Then, I looked at my palms, which were also stinging. Both had places where the skin was peeled back, and red was quickly coming through. Not sure what to do, I stood there for a second and thought, "Do I go ahead and turn off the sprinkler, or do I go inside and start with the Neosporin?"

I bagged the stupid sprinkler, which I clearly blame for causing the accident, and hobbled inside. I cleaned out the cuts, applied Neosporin and the biggest band aids ever made. I'm pretty sure the last time I used one that big I was in third grade.

After nursing myself to a non-bleeding stage, I sat down and reflected on what had just happened. That's when the waterworks started. I immediately thought of all the times the doctors had told me that twins were a "high-risk pregnancy" and was terrified that my misadventure had hurt them in some way. I rushed to the computer, looked up the OBGYN's on-call number and left a message for her to call me.

Within two minutes, she called back, and between sniffles and apologies for the wobbly tone of my voice, I explained what had just happened. She asked if I had fallen on my belly. I said I had managed to absorb the impact of the fall with my hands and knees, and my stomach never came near the ground. She said I would be fine, and more importantly, the babies would be fine. She reminded me of the good padding the twins had in the womb, and again told me not to worry.

Easier said than done. I called Geof to explain the unfortunate events of the afternoon. (He was at work.) Like the wonderful husband and father he is, he tried to calm me down. It worked, until I got off the phone with him. The tears started flowing again, as I apologized to the babies for putting them in danger. I just hugged my belly and prayed that they would be alright like the doctor said.

Thankfully, I have felt them move since then, which makes me feel a little better. I don't think I'll rest easy, though, until my ultrasound and doctor's appointment on Thursday. I just want to know my little girls are okay.

From here on out, I refuse to have any more dealings with the sprinkler. I now consider it my arch nemesis and will require Geof to handle all things related to foliage hydration.