This is not an ancient caveman's drawing of a foot. It's my drawing of a foot. My smacked-by-a-wooden-chair left foot.
Many of you know that as pregnancy progresses, your dexterity and grace are lost. They've been replaced by bumbling, uncoordinated lumberings. Such was the case a few days ago when, as my daughter sat eating lunch in said wooden chair, my foot seemed turbo-propelled by some invisible super-magnet to collide with the corner of the chair leg. It stuck between my second and third toes (as the arrow indicates.) With the collision, there was a loud SNAP.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.
My husband came running and helped me limp/hop to the sofa. My daughter helped by dropping a 2 pound ice pack directly on top of the toe. My middle toe turned a bit purple and is still uncomfortable to walk on, but doesn't seem to be broken. It's a miracle.
A day later, I tried, unsuccessfully, to drink from a glass. Doesn't seem difficult, does it? But when I started pouring before the beverage hit my mouth, I made a one-in-a-million shot. Straight down the neckhole of my shirt, I poured my juice all over my bra. Now, if I had tried to pour it there, I probably would have accidentally made it to my mouth.
In my last pregnancy, doorways suddenly seemed so narrow. By the time I delivered, my shoulders were black and blue from cutting every corner too short while walking through my own house. Sometimes I would even bounce off the corners a little bit - sort of like a bumper car crash.
I've never been a butterfingers, but holding on to anything seems an impossible task these days. Whatever it is, if I touch it, it will most certainly somehow end up on the floor. I've forbidden myself from carrying eggs, touching crystal lamps or bringing heirloom jewelry anywhere near the bathroom sink.
These pregnancy afflictions seem universal... why is that??