Graceful is not my middle name

I woke up this morning to learn that Blogger had sent my most recent post (and useful comments) somewhere into the cyberspace mystery vault. Where to, I had no idea. The post has since returned, but the comments are still MIA.

In the mean time, I'm sitting here with several throbbing toes. After a rare lovely morning out with both girls (mornings out aren't rare, but mornings out being lovely with no whinging or meltdowns are a rarity), I decided to be naughty and grab a McDonald's lunch for the Faery and I, from the local drive-thru on our way home.

We got home, I unpacked the car, put Miss Pie in her high chair, got the Faery sorted with her McHappy meal, and - quickly, so my waiting Quarter Pounder didn't get too cold - got some yoghurt and chopped banana for Miss Pie. In my haste to get over the safety gate from the kitchen, I'm not sure what happened next.

A clumsy moment. One leg didn't clear it properly and my big foot hooked over the gate, bringing the it down behind me. I stacked it in spectacular style, and several toes on my other foot copped the brunt of my weight whilst somehow getting dragged on the ground as I fell.

The icing on the cake? A plate full of food all over the carpet, which was freshly steam-cleaned just yesterday. A long overdue clean which - miraculously - undid a year's worth of sins that only a preschooler and baby can do to carpet.

The pain. The sight of food strewn across the as-new carpet (the trajectory pattern was most excellent, I have to admit). The pain. More pain. I couldn't move for a good minute, while both girls stared at me in dismay. I am amazed I didn't let all kinds of foul language fly. I was just too dazed, and - the pain!

The Faery watched me for another moment - I'm sure she was holding her breath - and then said, "Wow, Mum! It's lucky you didn't cry, because grown-ups don't cry!"

I thought I was, but it was just my eyes watering. I thought I might be doing a disservice to her by pretending I was okay (impossible, anyway), so I told her it hurt a lot and I wanted to cry, and that it's okay for grown-ups to cry, that everybody cries when they are hurt or feeling very sad, and that's normal.

Then I picked myself up and attempted to make an ice pack. What I learned today is that we need a gel pack in the freezer, because the huge crescent-shaped chunks of ice that the freezer's ice-maker produces are almost impossible to fashion into an ice pack for toes. At this point, the skin at the bottom of my big toenail was gushing blood (again... clean carpet!) and it looked as though I may have even managed to pull the toenail away from its bed. Nice one, and woe is me. My pretty toes! Vanity sucks.

And my Quarter Pounder? It was pretty cold by the time I got to eat it.

Sigh.

That was two hours ago, and I'm still not sure what's going to happen to my toenail. It may be okay. Hard to say. But my middle toe on that same foot? I can't move or bend it. At all. I hadn't even noticed that earlier, what with the pain radiating from my big toe. Awesome.

A little fact about me that I may not have mentioned before is that I am prone to clumsiness. As a kid, my parents called me Calamity Jane, and I never really outgrew this trait.

Graceful is not my middle name.

If something can be tripped over, you bet I'll manage that. My hips and thighs have constant bruises from me bashing into objects. I'm so used to it that I often don't register minor accidents until later at night when I have a shower and find new bruises on me: Hmm... where did that come from?

All I can say is, thank gawd it's Friday. Bring on the wine tonight - it can't come a moment too soon...