If I feel like blogging about it, but didn't make it or give birth to it, this is where it goes.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Picture, if you will, a little girl running across the lawn with the joyful speed and abandon that only an almost-two-year-old can achieve. Picture the girl's six-month pregnant mother bolting away from the car to go after her, flinging a box of diapers from her arms in an attempt to move faster. Picture the little girl coming to the end of the grass, falling from the change in terrain, and sliding across the sidewalk. Picture her mother in two inch heeled sandals, belly swaying and bouncing in an ungainly fashion, trying to both catch up before her daughter slides into the street as well as to avoid trampling over the girl's prone form. Picture the mother succeeding in stopping short of running over her daughter, only to fall (literally) victim to the inertia of a pregnant belly in motion. Picture a little girl lying on the pavement crying while her mother swings her arms frantically to avoid falling on and crushing her daughter. Picture the mother falling forward and finally landing on all fours, not crushing her daughter, but with her limbs acting as a cage for the girl and looking for all the world like an unbalanced hippo in a green t-shirt.
That pretty much describes my morning. Ellie got the worst of it on her wrist and hand. If you look closely you can also see where she scraped the knuckles of her fingers closest to the nail. Both of my knees are scraped and I keep finding places where I must have landed because all kinds of new places are feeling bruised. I hope the people in the cars driving by were amused at the scene.