I did it. I fell down the stairs while carrying the baby. I knew it. I have a wild imagination. And I promise you that every horrible thing I can imagine will eventually happen to me. I'm not saying I force it to happen, but I do think that perhaps it happens to teach me that I can handle anything. And that I am a tad bit psychic, something many close friends and relatives will affirm.
So I was walking down the stairs and I slipped and fell with baby on my right hip. I am pretty sure that it must have really hurt her somehow. She cried. A lot. And I cried. Almost as much. I was in shock, I think. And she was probably more afraid because I was so frightened for her safety. It was only six stairs but it didn't feel like it was going to end. I kept trying to catch myself but there was nothing to grab onto. I just couldn't gather my thoughts to make it all stop.
A couple of weeks ago, I went out to lunch with a friend of mine. I've known him for nearly ten years. I should have known him for fifteen years. He was an employee of an arena football team for which I was a cheerleader. Small world. We didn't meet until 1999. We lived in the same building twice. I didn't think he liked me "like that," not that every guy must like me but he's adorable and I'm not a psychopath so...why didn't we date?
A week later, he invited me to a play. OMG I actually was picked up and taken on a bona fide date. I was pretty nervous. Really nervous. I have been a real basketcase these past few months. Living alone causes you to lose some serious conversational skills. Living with a child under sixteen months old causes you to talk too much when you're around other grown-ups.
I guess he didn't mind too much that I blabbered on and on all night long. It was at his house where I fell. In more ways than one.