It’s every pregnant woman’s nightmare. And yet, I somehow mangaged to accomplish what I have been avoiding.
I fell yesterday.
I’ll blame it on my equilibrium and not on my cute flats or the tile sidewalk. In any case, I fell. Hard. But, the good news: I caught myself on my hands and knees.
See, this is what happens if you’ve been a klutz your whole life. You get used to tripping and slipping–so you learn more about gripping (anything and everything around you). Lucky for me, my kiddos were in front of me. A custodian saw, but I was tough.
At least I was tough until I got to my classroom and sat down. Then my baby started doing a little dance inside of me that felt like there were four babies in there. I started to worry. And worry. AND WORRY. Until pretty soon, I had convinced myself that I was having mild contractions. Yeah. I know. Contractions hurt, right? Well, I’ve never had them so I don’t really have much to compare it to.
I went to the office first. My principal is a pretty good mother, and I knew she could talk me down off the ledge. She wasn’t there. I went to the counselor’s office. I thought for sure that they would at least help me communicate with the Spanish-Only Nurses. Not there…
Finally, after bursting into tears (we’ll say it was the hormones), the nurse took me to examine my baby. Estas bien, she said finally. You’re fine. Whew. Big sigh of relief.
Bigger sigh of relief after the doctors-on-wheels arrived and checked me out. They blamed it on this being my first pregnancy. I got too excited, and the baby reacted to my tension. I don’t know. This baby is still moving like a Mexican Dancing Machine. I think I must have turned on some button–the movin’ and shakin’ button. That must be it. She’s just a Mover and a Shaker.