this is why they call me grace

I have a reputation for being something of a klutz. If it can be tripped over, I will find it. I have some small consolation in that this seems to be an inherited trait. Some my parents' greatest hits include Mom walking into a clear glass door and shattering it and Dad reaching under a running lawn mower - both of which required nothing more than stitches, thank goodness.

Yes, accidents do happen, but they seem to happen a lot more to us. When I was a kid, we often joked that visiting the emergency room was our way of slowly financing a new hospital wing.

I've enjoyed a pretty good run of minor mishaps, mostly walking into things or dropping things, which has naturally increased since I became pregnant but not alarmingly so. Well, yesterday made up for it.

First thing in the morning, I was climbing the stairs with a bowl of cereal in one hand and two mugs of hot beverages in the other, much like I have done nearly every morning for the last three years, as Stéph and I enjoy taking our breakfast in front of our computers like nice nerdy couples. Only this time I missed a step, two steps from the top.

Why yes, I did drop two steaming only-moments-ago-boiling mugs of hot beverage on my left hand, how did you guess?

Luckily, I landed on my knees and since French Fry has more than enough padding I'm positive he escaped with nothing more than a little shock (he was moving like usual by the afternoon). Even more luckily, Stéph was right there when it happened and took total control. After he cleaned up the mess and sent me to soak my hand in cold water, we assessed the damage.

Most of my hand was an angry, swollen red, but the outside of my wrist was decidedly bubbly. We hightailed it to the pharmacy where we were assured that a good coating of Biafine would help it heal. I was pretty helpless for the rest of the day, but again I was lucky to have Stéph here to help me out.

Well, I'm here to tell you that Biafine is a damn miracle drug, as this morning I woke with nearly no pain, just a little tenderness and some nasty looking blisters. And, of course, another entry into my personal lexicon called "This is Why They Call me Grace."