Yesterday, I fell down. It was quite the spectacular fall.
Vicki and I were in the living room, having a afternoon snack of pita chips and hummus. Her version of dipping a chip is to stick it into the hummus up to her first knuckles, then remove it, lick off the hummus and repeat. (Don’t worry, I don’t serve this hummus to guests. Ewww.) Anyway, she ended up with a lot of hummus all over her hands and wanted to wipe it off onto the couch. I jumped up to hurry into the kitchen for a paper towel to wipe her off instead.
In between our living room and kitchen is a baby gate. I dashed over to it and grabbed the handle on the door to open it. It didn’t open. My momentum, however, carried me right into the gate, which crashed to the floor with me on top of it. I landed mostly on my left side and somehow my right foot got stuck in between the bars of the gate. Vicki immediately started crying because it was loud and scary and Mama why are you on the ground?
So basically, I tripped over nothing and managed to take down the gate with me. Impressive.
Once I calmed down the Vick and set the gate back up, I called my midwife. They basically told me what I already knew – the baby is safe in the amniotic sac, and to keep an eye out for any cramping, bleeding, or a sudden gush of fluids. I was told to take it easy and drink plenty of water. They left out the part where I need to stop charging around like a buffalo.
I managed not to totally freak out, but the thought crossed my mind that I’m pretty stupid and if something were to go wrong, I would never be able to forgive myself. Today I’m totally fine, except for the compulsive need to check for fluids & bleeding every time I go to the bathroom. And although I know that reaching 24 weeks and viability doesn’t make any guarantees, I am looking forward to hitting that milestone. Because at least at that point my baby boy would stand a chance.
In the meantime, I’ll be decked out in bubble wrap for the next 16-18 weeks.