In the past, I’ve had people comment that I move very gracefully. Cue snorts and loud guffaws here, people, because THAT is pure comic gold. I’m about as graceful as a newborn giraffe.
Since I was a little nipper, I have always been covered in bruises, and 99% of them…I can’t explain.
Once, while at the hospital waiting while my big brother had his ears checked, my mother was mortified to have a doctor pull her aside and ask how I got all the bruises on my legs. “She’s clumsy and bruises easily”, was the embarrassed response. That was in the very early 80s…these days, I imagine that doctor wouldn’t have let it go quite so easily.
Another time, I had to run in my primary school’s relay trials in jeans, because my mother refused to let me wear shorts. I made it into the reserves, and the 10-year-old in me still blames my mother for me not making the “proper” team.
It’s as though I’m completely spatially-unaware, unsure of my own space in relation to everything else. It’s as though I see a door frame and I know I’m plenty small enough to fit through the opening, but I still manage to whack my shoulder on the frame on the way through.
Or I see the mantlepiece of my midwife’s fireplace, and like a magnet, am drawn towards it. Violently.
This morning, I noticed a large and lumpy purple bruise on one shin, and a large and lumpy blue bruise on the other. One is from walking – repeatedly – into the open dishwasher door. The other? No idea.
It’s not just bruising, either. Oh-hoh no. Last night, I burned myself three times within the space of an hour. I touched one knuckle against a hot oven rack while swapping pizza trays around. I grabbed the handle of a just-out-of-a-hot-oven cast-iron pan. And I poured just-boiled water into the aforementioned pan (to unstick some caramel sauce)….and onto my belly. All this, while another burn is healing on the top of my wrist, from trying to stop a sliding hot oven tray with my hands.
How am I supposed to teach my kids to be careful around hot things and sharp corners if I can’t practise what I preach??!
The scary thing is that yesterday, Tiny had an incredibly clumsy day, and kept tripping over his own feet. Seriously – he fell down the back step and re-grazed a healing graze on his forehead, and spent more time picking himself up off the floor than staying upright. Is my son destined to be an accident-waiting-to-happen like his mother??