To say that I am clumsy is perhaps the understatement of the century. Consider the following: When I was 3 or 4, I went down a slide that I probably shouldn’t have, landed on my knees, and slid across the gravel and sand, leaving most of the skin from the top of my left foot behind. In fourth grade, while running relays in gym, I literally ran into the wall and broke my wrist. On a sixth grade field trip, I smacked my knee on the bus door, and had to bleed approximately a pint of blood before the bus driver would give me a band-aid out of the first aid kit. I still have a huge scar. The first (and only) time that I went snowboarding, I fell immediately upon attempting to stand – at the top of the bunny hill – and was sure that I had broken my tailbone. Then, because I couldn’t get my stupid feet out of the stupid snowboard bindings, I had to go down the rest of the mountain anyway, (I was lapped by a five year old, at least twice) and fell off the lift, face first. Two years ago, I was riding my husband’s bike, caught my foot on the pedal strap doo-dad, and keeled over, which resulted in a huge scar on my elbow. Toby rode home (about 100 yards) and he and Dad brought the car to take me home. I have permanent bruises on my shins from running into the coffee table, and on my knees from smacking them against the underside of my desk. Yesterday, I tripped – on thin air, evidently – and scraped all of the skin off of my knee – through my pants, no less. And on top of that, I peeled all of the remaining skin off when I removed the band-aid. People, the fact that I have not broken more bones is one of the great mysteries of the universe.
Toby is lucky enough to have inherited all of my clumsiness – he’s had stitches twice, and I’m sure a broken bone is not too far behind. He slips on the hardwood floors and crashes into the walls at least once a week. He’s run into doors, smacked his head on the bottom of the top bunk, and snapped himself on the lips with the rubber bands for his braces. If I thought putting him in a plastic bubble would help, I’d consider it, but he’d probably find a way to roll it off a cliff, or in front of a speeding train. His first baseball game of the season is tonight, and I don’t know what position he will be playing, but I’m going to make sure that I have a straight shot to the snack bar, just in case I need to run to get ice.
Guess I’d better just stock up on band-aids, Advil and Neosporin, and cross my fingers that we both make it through the next 15 years or so with as few trips to the emergency room as possible.