I don’t know whether it’s because when one is pregnant they lose all dexterity, but I’m noticing that the little coordination I once executed through life is flitting away. I always think I can rise above these things, that I won’t succumb to the stereotypical symptoms that plague so many moms-to-be, but the increase in the level of bruises on my body seems to suggest that this is, indeed, a preggers feature afflicting me.
The bruises were the first call to attention that something was amiss. I misjudge the distances of massive, inanimate objects and plow right into them. Corners are the worst. Even granting myself a wide berth (bedumchhh!) knowing that it’s likely I’ll ram my hip or elbow into one, I still manage to connect to the obstacle as if magnetised to its destructive edges.
Last weekend, I was sitting on the bed, arranging the covers in a cozy fashion when I fell head over heals off the bed. My boyfriend watched in terror as my feet flew into the air and no rescue was possible. There was a loud thud and a mix of laughter and crying. I somehow managed to get a bright blue bruise on my foot, but otherwise, appeared mostly preserved.
Around 6am one morning, this could have equally been fatigue compounded by baby growing, I was riding my bike to the gym and I saw green, but the light was red. The intersection lights are a bit askew, so I could easily just have glanced and mixed it up, and my brain wasn’t moving as fast as my pedalling, but I avoided the car and stopped when I realized I was being the dickhead on the bike, the person I so much despise.
Perhaps the most frightening incident yet was when I arrived home from a day at the office and was changing out of my work clothes when I saw what appeared to be dried blood in and around my belly button. I immediately began the freaking out process and the Google doctoring. I thought something was wrong with me and the baby. Tears started to pool in my eyes as I read through the list of terrible symptoms my belly button represented. Then, as if by chance, I smelled the gunky stuff and realized it smelled like chocolate. I had eaten a brownie earlier that day and I remember a crumb falling down my shirt in which I was unable to retrieve tactfully in an office environment. It had camped out and melted in my belly button, forgotten until a near case of mistaken identity.
Items slip through my hands (no handling of Tiffany vases any time soon for this lady) and I trip over my flip-flops whereas before, flippy-floppies were never a problem. That near face-plant into the middle of the road had me retiring that summer favorite shoe. Nothing is as elegant as a pregnant girl nearly falling face first but catching herself through the flailing of arms, and by elegant, I really mean not elegant at all.
I’ve decided high heels are from now on to be saved for special occasions, especially when sitting is the main form of activity. Extra tread to accompany my walk to work, so no more ballet flats or wedges to cover great distances. No texting and walking, as I am bound to run into a tree, bus, or manhole. And finally, a suit of armor: helmet, knee and elbow pads, complete with a body pillow (to cover my body).
This way, I can ensure that my baby is safe and I won’t have the bluish appearance of a smurf due to full body surface area bruises. Only 16 weeks of clumsiness to go! But, oh my freaking god, that means there is a baby and I really have no idea how that is supposed to come out and what to do with it when it does.