I'm a tad clumsy. I trip. A lot. So much so that I'm not even embarrassed when I do so in public. Even when I'm alone.
One time I actually tripped and fell while trying to read a book and walk up stairs. This was many moons ago at Jr. College. I felt a tad bit embarrassed then. Okay, a little bit more than a tad. What idiot walks up stairs while reading? Apparently I do.
Some nice girl rushed to my side, asked if I was okay, and because I was so darn embarrassed, I got annoyed at her for being nice to me and brushed her off. I prefer to suffer my embarrassing moments in silence.
But that was years ago, like I said. These days, the clumsy accidents occur and it almost seems normal now.
So this week was a doozy. I had a slight accident while trying to sit my non-wiggling toddler on the rocker chair in his room so I could go get a new inhaler from his closet. I ended up tripping or stumbling or just plain falling over for no reason (it was early, leave me alone, and no, I wasn't drinking), which caused Mateo, the non-wiggly toddler, to fall into the rocker, conk his head (he's FINE; me, NOT SO MUCH), while I scraped both shins, hit my tree trunk arm on something and hit my chin on something else (I don't remember this at all, but I have a nice quarter-sized, pale blue bruise on my chin now).
My left shin is scraped and bruised all the way down the bone, my right shin just had a big blob of a scrapped bruise, and my arm looks like someone was grabbing me forcefully and forcing me here and there and back again.
You don't realize how much you sit on your shins until you go ahead and destroy both of them, nor do you realize how often you rest your hand on your chin until you go ahead and hit your chin on something you don't even remember hitting it on. I'm constantly reminded of my stupid clumsiness and how I almost killed my child by knocking him unconscious and then falling on top of him (and I'm not light by any means).
The emotional scar of that incident will last a lot longer than these dang shin bruises, however.
And then yesterday I decided to mindless pick at my pinky toenail (gross, but true, sorry), and I ended up ripping pretty much the whole thing off. It was hanging by a small thread of flesh, so I just ripped the rest of it off instead of constantly dealing with a partly hanging off toenail.
My pinky toenail began to bleed and refused to stop, so I slapped a band aid on my toe and continued on my day.
As with most injuries, my toe pain is way worse today than it was yesterday. While I can wear sandals to work (especially when it's 100 degrees outside, like it is today), my sandals were stupidly left in Mateo's room, and he's a light sleeper in the mornings, so I didn't want to hobble into his room, trying not to make noise and wake him up, just so I could walk around in comfort.
I tried on my new pair of mary janes, realized they really didn't go with what I was wearing anyway, never mind my little hurt toe was being squished, so I took those off. Then I thought, well, maybe I should just wear my converses today, especially since I have a stanky foot issue as it is, and it's really hot outside, and I was going to be walking to a restaurant after getting off work. I put my socks on, then my converses, tried to walk, couldn't, took them off, and went with my normal pair of black Dansko mary janes.
It's now 1PM, the band aid on my toe has fallen off and is wandering around my shoe, and I'm really afraid to look at my toe to see what kind of funkiness is laying on top of the exposed nail bed. My husband said I might have to get it amputated, and he may just be correct on that one. It would certainly fall right into place with all the other weird things that have happened to me (accidentally and from genetics), so we'll see how that one goes.
All in all, this has been quite the fabulous week for injuries. Probably the most I've had at one time in my short life. Can't wait to see what next week brings.