This morning, I was trying to do a million things while getting ready to go to the gym. In the midst of misplacing my 3rd arm, I somehow managed to get both the kids dressed, and I bet you will NEVER guess what Claire dressed herself in, myself dressed and the laundry in the basket to bring downstairs. Claire gathered her laundry in a separate small basket along with Luca’s clothes, too. (Am I spoiled or what?)
Here’s my first gripe of the day:
Who in the hell decided that laundry should be in the basement or lowest level imaginable? I’m sure this is an American thing, as most things we do don’t make much sense. Over in Europe, I’m going to take a guess that they have their laundry facilities on the level of which they dump their clothes. For me, that’d be the second floor. I distinctly remember my neighbor telling me in all her 4 children-raising wisdom, “Make SURE you put your washer and dryer on the second floor. It just makes sense that way.”
Carrie is one smart woman. I’m not so much.
I’ve told Matt a million times that when we renovate our master bathroom* we will put our washer and dryer up there in a closet. I mean, it only makes sense. And if it were to leak and cause damage, that’s what home owners’ insurance is for, right? Can I get an amen?
Anywho, here I am, with my laundry baskets going down our ridiculously awesomely padded and carpeted stairs in my socks. The kids were slowly following behind me when all of a sudden I some how manage to slip on a stair and fall directly on my arse. Then, I proceed to bounce down about 4 other stairs. But by God, I held onto that laundry.
I sat there for a minute, collecting myself, when the baby started moving all over, clearly upset with me for having had a free fall. I started to hysterically laugh. Claire and Luca, who were still coming down the stairs like normal people, came up to me and were petting my hair and hugging me. Then Claire saw I was laughing and said, “Mama, your butt bounced down the stairs!” Which lead to more laughing and tears from laughing so hard. Luca looked confused, but Claire was laughing right along with me.
So being as I was OK, naturally I figured this would make a great facebook update. I mean, c’mon. I made an ass of myself, why not broadcast it all over the internet? And sure I know I’m pregnant and pregnant people aren’t supposed to fall, but this isn’t my first rodeo. With Claire I slipped on some ice and fell on my ass and with Luca I passed out at work hitting my head off the copier and landing directly on my stomach. The kids turned out fine.
Then once they were out into the real world, the bumps didn’t stop there. On New Years Day morning Matt was carrying a then 2 month old Claire downstairs where HE slipped and bounced on his ass the whole way down. Claire was fine, just startled. I was more worried about Matt as he thought he killed her. Want to see a new dad cry? I didn’t.
Luca, as we all know, fell down the basement stairs and landed on the hard concrete at 9 months of age. He’s fine.
So I fell down the stairs. On my bum. Holding laundry. I thought at least one person out there would find it comical. And boy did I ever.
Enter my longest friend of all time, Kevin:
And yes, while concern is good, humor is even better. I’m pretty sure Kevin is the only person in the world who could get away with saying such things simply because I know him all too well.
And Kelly’s comment in all caps was duly noted. What I wanted to reply was, “Well I only have 7 more weeks left. Let’s see what other shenanigans I can get myself into,” but I figured that would upset my Aunt Emily. And then the Karma gods would strike me down and I’d be on bedrest or something equally horrible.
I’m merely a klutz and/or spaz. Matt wasn’t surprised. Concerned, yes. Surprised, no. I mean, think about it, we’re talking about a girl who:
1. Stuck a penny in a electrical outlet at 3 years old which sent me 3 feet back and gave me some awesome hair. (I still have that penny by the way.)
2. Tripped going UP some stairs only to get a nasty shin bruise that hurt like hell, the DAY before prom. I was also walking with my date who looked concerned for his health.
3. Broke my foot and hip at the pathetic age of 17.
4. As previously mentioned, passed out at work thinking that it was OK to walk while greying out. I learned a valuable lesson that day. You just shouldn’t do that.
5. Put cumin on toast thinking it was cinnamon.
6. Thought that at the age of 9, it was OK for me to go visit an elderly friend three blocks away and not tell my Mom where I was. She was at the grocery store for a quick trip. Keep in mind, cellphones weren’t cool yet. Yah, Mom loved me for that one.
7. Was called sir a lot as a child.
It all makes sense!
So me and my bruised ego are sitting on the couch until further notice.
*Our “master bathroom” is the size of a handicap bathroom stall at Panera. I’m not even CLOSE to joking.