Murdock Cockaigne

Just before the start of the New Year, I had an embarrassing fall and broke my little pinky toe. I was trying to get up from sitting on the floor and got my momentum going before I got my footing secure. And I bit it. Hardcore.

It's still not healed. And my little piggy on the end is a sad sight, it's still twice as large as its counterpart and painful when I step on it wrong. That is sad.

It's also sad that yesterday, while picking up pizzas for Nate's Valentine party at school, I stepped on a patch of thin ice and fell again, this time landing square on my knee. But my knee didn't hurt nearly as much as my pride -- I fell in front of other parents who rushed over to see if I was okay. I could hear the carpool lane talk later -- "Did you see the pregnant lady fall? Oh man, did you get a look at her face as she hit that ice? Priceless."

At the Valentine party, I backed into the coat hangers at an incredible rate of speed and bruised the fleshy part of my ample arm, something fierce. This is just a normal day for me -- fall, bruise, repeat.

When I told Adam about falling in the parking lot and how embarrassed I was, he said -- "Don't worry, those other moms already know you, so they're probably aware that you're clumsy."

Yep. No surprises here!