Lawyer Mama

Yet Another Spectacular Fall

Yes, I am a klutz.

I come from a long line of klutzes. No one in my family understands how I managed to dance and cheer in high school.  Frankly, I'm not entirely sure any more either.

This afternoon, while attempting to take the boys crabbing, I had a wonderful fall in a gravel parking lot.  In my defense, I had the dog on the leash, was trying to get the kids out of Trey's truck and I was packing my large camera case.  I didn't even see the big hole in the parking lot until after I half stepped into it, twisted my right ankle and went down like a rock onto my left knee and foot.

It was pretty bad.  We couldn't get all of the gravel out of the gash and it looked like it needed a couple of stitches, so we head to the emergency room for a shortish visit and a tetanus shot.  Awesome. No lasting damage was done, although I pulled several muscles very badly. I'm guessing I'll be limping around for awhile.

Because I'm a kick ass mom, we headed out to finish our aborted crabbing and fishing outing, with Mommy limping all the way.  Those boys definitely don't appreciate me enough!

In honor of my awesome fall from "grace" this afternoon, I'm republishing a post I wrote in June of 2007 about my legendary clutziness.  Enjoy!

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The week before Little H was born, I fell down in the hospital parking lot. I was 8 months pregnant, a little awkward, and I refused to stop wearing heels. Hey, I'm 5'2", people, I need all the help I can get!

Anywho, I'd been walking out to my car after one of my twice weekly biophysical profiles at the hospital (ah, the joys of high risk pregnancy), and I went down like a rock. Onto my knee. I was wearing a skirt. Ouch.

I wish I could blame it on that stretchy ligament thing that happens to pregnant women, but I'm generally a klutz even when I'm not knocked up. I once fell down while standing still in a hallway talking to a co-worker.

Seriously.

I may be one smart cookie, but apparently I can't stand and talk at the same time.

So, when I went in for my conveniently scheduled c-section a week after my parking lot fall, the nurse took a look at my gruesome knee, asked me how it happened, and then promptly clipped a hot pink band around my wrist.


She told me that it's used as a warning to the staff that I'm a habitual faller.

Me: "You mean it tells everyone that I'm a klutz who can't be trusted to walk to the bathroom by herself or say, handle an innocent newborn?"
Nurse: "Yeah. Pretty much."

Well, I was allowed to handle Holden, but they did slap a nice matching sign onto my hospital room door.


When my perinatologist saw it, she told me that they usually only put it on the doors of little old women who've just broken a hip.

Great.

Just get me one of those LifeCall buttons and call it a day. Although, for the record, I've never seriously uttered the words, "I've fallen and I can't get up."

"We're sending help immediately, Mrs. Fletcher!"

Since then, I've managed many spectacularly embarrassing falls, but none of them were particularly memorable. It happens so often, you see, that the scars on my knees all sort of blend together.

Fast forward to last weekend.

T and I took the H's to the Botanical Gardens to see my picture and to let the little heathens run amok for awhile. The children's garden tuckered them out nicely, so we hopped on the tram for the ride back to the car. When we got off the tram, I attempted to sit down on a low retaining wall while hubs went to get the car.

I was holding Holden.

You can see where this is going already, can't you? Yup. It will be a miracle if the child makes it to adulthood.

I fell down right by the wall.

T said it was a rather graceful fall and complimented the way I cupped Holden's head and rolled onto my back like a turtle. Whereupon I laid there like a half-dead cockroach, kicking my legs and yelling at T to take the baby.

Unfortunately, despite my cradling of Little H, I managed to slam his right arm into and down the wall on my way down. There was a lot of screaming. Most of it done by me. "He hit the wall! Oh My God! He hit the WALL!"

Are we seeing a pattern here?

Holden is fine. His arm is a bit scraped up, but I think I have a few more gray hairs.

And I'm no longer allowed to carry the baby unless he's encased in bubble wrap.

I just hope poor Holden hasn't inherited my grace and poise. If so, the poor kid is doomed.

Oh yeah, that lovely "I'm a klutz" sign up above? My husband asked if he could take it when we left the hospital. It hangs on our refrigerator door.

I love you too, dear.

Are They Trying To Kill Me?

For the love of God, I swear someone in my office is out to get me.

By now, you all know that I am a klutz. I am in fact so klutzy that I must warn all passers by with a hot pink sign and matching wristband. I am the woman who once fell down while standing still and talking to a co-worker. I have fallen down in half the bars of the District of Columbia while completely sober.

And I swear I don't have any sort of neurological disorder.

Have I mentioned that our offices are being renovated?

The new offices are starting to look great and I think it was time. The place hasn't been renovated since the late 70's and, hopefully, it will be a cold day in hell before that decor comes back into vogue. (And please, if it has, just don't tell me. I'd rather kill myself than decorate in early 80's.) So the partners sucked it up, busted out the check-book, and started renovating.

The office is also expanding from the West and middle sections of our building, into the recently vacated East wing on our floor. The building is one giant U, so it's now quite a hike from one side of the office to the other. During the various phases of the build out, the powers-that-be have been moving us around to temporary offices and housing all the secretaries in card board boxes out on the street.

During the second stage of the renovation, I moved into a windowless closet for three months. It wasn't too horrible. I still had a door I could close and, usually, electricity, although that was spotty at times. You think I'm joking about the closet thing, but I'm not. I could touch both sides of my office if I extended both of my arms at the same time.

Fast forward to the next, and THANK THE DEAR LORD, final, stage of the renovation. I am now in my permanent, nicely renovated office with a gorgeous view of the downtown area. And I usually have electricity. What more could a girl want? (Aside from a working bathroom on the same floor as my office? But that's a topic for another post!)

Because the office is being renovated in sections, the East and West wings are largely complete now and nicely appointed. The contractor is currently working on the middle section, which includes the reception area and most of the conference rooms. Oh, and the bathrooms, but again I digress. (A few UTI's are no big deal anyway. That's what antibiotics are for, right?)

Anyway, to cut down on dust and to semi-isolate the construction area, the contractor has erected a really long tunnel between the East and West wings of our office. It's a crime they weren't doing this over Halloween because it would make a fabulous haunted house. All joking aside though, Lawyer Mama, the woman who once practically broke an ankle while strapping a small child into a swing (it's a long story), now has to make several daily treks through the Chunnel or, what I like to call, The Lawsuit Waiting to Happen.

I took some video to share:




Alas, I didn't record any sound so you are missing the high pitched whine of power tools that rounds out the whole experience.

Our office administrator swears they're taking the tunnel down this weekend.

If I make it until Friday without killing myself and taking down half of the office in the process, it will be a miracle.

Does anyone have a bucket I can borrow?