Well, I've finally done it.
Had my first pregnant tumble, that is.
Serves me right, as I've laughed over others' tumbles and tumps and frankly, if you were to've seen a big round pregnant lady such as me tip over and land on the ground, unable to rise for several minutes, you'd probably laugh, too.
Our friend Catherine died earlier this summer. That was not funny, but very sad. She was a lovely wonderful woman, full of life, a dear friend to my whole family.
After the service, held at Oak Ridge's non-denominational Chapel on the Hill-- the same place our brother wed our dear sister-in-law La-- there was a receiving of friends and families along with food and cold drinks. We do things that way in the South. Maybe y'all do elsewhere, too.
In any case, as I'm nibbling on finger sandwiches near my sister, she turns to me and says,
"Have you fallen yet?" As if it is inevitable.
I nearly spit pimiento cheese across the multi-purpose room. "What?!," I gasp.
"Have you fallen yet?," says my sister, "I fell all the time when I was pregnant.... down the driveway, out of the car, in the kitchen."
She says this so matter of factly, as if, like a swelling belly and fatigue, falling is just a natural part of pregnancy.
I nearly pee my pants laughing. Literally. I am picturing my round bellied sister rolling over like a gigantic physio ball with appendages, and I am picturing myself doing the same thing. As of that moment, I hadn't yet fallen.
So, hey, Dana? My yet came today. I fell. Just a little while ago.
My Beloved Mister was readying to depart for his evening shift on the radio and I took Bert out to pee in the side yard. I'm not really sure what happened. Suddenly, ass over tea kettle, the sky was in the wrong place and I was on the ground with a grass stain on the knee of my jeans and an abrasion on the skin beneath the denim. My wrist hurt. I caught my weight with my wrist, like they tell you not to do, but I didn't want to land on my belly. I let go of Bert's leash. That, or the fall pulled it from my grasp. He did not run away. Rather, he ran to me immediately, to see that I was okay.
I sat. Stunned. Thought about crying. Didn't cry.
My Beloved Mister walked out of doors just as I was pulling myself up from an all fours position on the ground.
"It's hot out here! Like an oven, " he says.
I stare at him. Then say, "I fell."
"Are you alright?!"
"I think so." Now I'm really wanting to cry because I feel stupid and because I'm almost always okay with anything until I hear his voice and then when I do, I respond to the sound emotionally.
"On the driveway? On the grass?"
"Kind of both."
"I'm not sure. "
"Did you trip?"
"Did you get dizzy?"
"I don't know. I think.... I think it's just the loosening joints. I stepped, and then.... I don't know. I just fell."
"Are you sure you're okay? Go inside. Where it's cool. Put your feet up."
So, I took a tumble.
I think it must've looked hilarious.