With me being 37 1/2 weeks pregnant, I’m sure you assumed that you would not get to hear a clumsy-pregnant-lady story like you did last time I was pregnant. And just for a short refresher, when I was pregnant with Reagan I took a spill at a gig (landed on all fours) and later nearly wiped out at the nail salon.
I've been so proud of me making it all winter without slipping on ice. I’ve been majorly impressed at my ability not to trip over the small person who likes to stand underneath my stomach and completely out of my line of sight. I’ve considered it an incredible accomplishment that I have not fallen down the stairs or tripped when getting out of the shower. All of these NONhappenings were serious gold stars in my world.
Until Tuesday.
Brian and Reagan were upstairs, unloading the groceries and putting them away. I was downstairs doing laundry. When I heard a crash followed by my daughter screaming in horror followed by loud shouts of incomprehensible words from my husband.
I actually forgot I was pregnant and I ran. I ran up the stairs. I began skipping stairs the way you would if were you an agile teenager. I don’t remember much of my journey up the stairs to the kitchen. I didn’t fall, but it felt like I was going in slow motion.
I arrived in the kitchen to find that Reagan had tried to carry a large container of juice to the fridge, had dropped it, and it had exploded all over the freshly-husband-mopped-floors. She was screaming because she was scared, because Brian was yelling for towels, and because she felt so bad. Not because she was hurt. I scooped her up and held her and told her it was okay - trying to calm her down and ease her fears.
As her sobs began to cease I noticed all that noise wasn’t just her breathing and sobbing. I was actually breathing louder and heavier than she was. In fact I began forcing air in and out of my lungs in choked abreviated gasps. We sat in the chair after I flung a few towels to Brian. I caught my breath and Reagan told me about the “big mess” and the “uh uh oh!” in the kitchen. When she finished her repetitive but accurate story telling, I went to get up to offer my assistance. And that’s when I knew I had a small problem. My stomach hurt. Specifically, the area where my c-section incision was/will be. I was unable to actually stand in a fully upright position.
After the chaos calmed down, I went to Bible study. As I drove I noted how difficult it was for me to lift my leg from the brake to the gas. In fact, a few times I had to lift my leg with one hand. Later that night when I climbed into bed, it was clear I had really hurt myself. The pain was breath-taking. I was okay if I sat, stood or laid down. But doing something like moving my leg even the slightest bit sent shockwaves of protest through my body. Brian had to actually assist me in getting out of bed in the morning.
As the day wore on, I did feel better and better. And today I feel quite good...considering. But I have developed what I now call a Violent Pregnant Waddle March (VPWM for short). At first, I tried to walk without bending my legs. But after a while, bending my legs was easier. Then I began to sort of whip/throw one leg at a time out in front of me, catch my balance, and whip/throw the other. Its impressive, really. Brings people to a dead stand-still as they watch me walk by.
So yeah, I feel a lot better but I still look ridiculous. And since I am feeling so much better, I have a manicure/pedicure scheduled for Saturday.
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