Yeah, so those of you who know me, are well aware that I am a klutz. Well, on Friday, I managed a whole new feat of clumsiness. I dropped Sam. Yup. More accurately, I fell while holding Sam. We were at the farm. It was dark and we were leaving. On my way to the car, I walked by our utility trailer — the trailer we’ve had for some 4 years or so now — that was parked by the in-laws’ house after being used to haul trash to the dump earlier in the week… and I barged right into the tongue, completely forgetting that, oh yeah, a trailer has a tongue, need to watch where I’m going. Sam was in my arms, facing me. I faceplanted and Sam kinda flew outta my arms like a football. Poor kid was terrified, though luckily not visibly injured in any way. He was pretty out of sorts the next day (although he’s also been teething, so that’s not helping), but the day after that (yesterday) he was back to his usual cheerful self. As you can see, I managed to scrape my shin quite nicely, right through my pants and bootleg. There’s a huge bruise under the skin, although you can’t really see it in the picture. I just felt like the world’s worst mom, although honestly, I’m amazed it took me this long to actually drop Sam (not counting when he fell off the bed once on my watch, which was awful enough). I mean, look at this scar on my knee from when I fell back in May (thank God Sam was safely in his carseat that time):
I was at the farm again, this time having stopped to pick up the newspaper and mail at the end of the drive. I slipped on the gravel and faceplanted. I needed 4 stitches. I hobbled around limping for days afterward, looking like a gimp during the 20-year reunion of the Parliamentary Tour Guides in Ottawa that weekend.
And then there was this incident some 9 years ago or so:
See that fine white line under my lower lip? It was a beautiful sunny, dry day. I was walking from the bus stop to my part-time job after school (this was when I’d gone back to university to finish my B.A.), wearing perfectly sensible flat shoes. I somehow slipped on a pebble and yup, faceplanted. My two front teeth (yay overbite) cut all the way right through my lip. I bruised my nose too, lucky I didn’t break it, it was swollen for a couple days. My sister was just finishing her shift as I got to the door of the office, so she took my battered bleeding self to the clinic, but it turned out no stitches were needed that time, the doc assured me the cut would heal on its own, and it did.
Anyway, not sure why I wanted to blog about klutziness tonight, but there are my physical scars for all to see. If anyone has any hints on eliminating the mental scars that cause me to berate myself with all kinds of nasty names when I pull clumsy shit like this, I’d love to hear ’em.