Those who know me know that I tend to fall down a lot. I fall while running, while roller blading, while walking through the house. I had knee surgery years ago because I slipped and fell in my parents' laundry room. It happened again last night.
Brandon is out of town, "looking for ducks," so I was home with the kids alone last night. I had them all squared away in bed, or so I thought, so I decided to take a shower. I knew there was no way I'd be able to take one in the morning until after I got Ella and Lily off to school, and I didn't want to wait that long.
Lily is going through this phase where she refuses to wipe her own bottom after she poops. I don't know why, but she just sits on the toilet and yells for help.
I got out of the shower to hear her yelling for me. I wasn't sure what was wrong, and I didn't want her to wake up Campbell, so I grabbed a towel and headed to the front of the house, still dripping wet. The dog was sprawled in the hall outside our bedroom, and I tried to step over her. Instead, one foot shot out in front of me, and I banged my left knee on the corner of the wall - hard. I now have a nice bruise and red line where I hit the wall. I also fell on the dog, who wasn't pleased with me.
I got up, cursing, and went to find Lily, who was still yelling for me. She was sitting on the toilet, waiting for me to wipe her bottom. Goodness knows how long she had been sitting there, yelling. I cleaned her up and sent her off to bed with a light swat on the fanny. She protested the whole way from the bathroom to her bedroom.
I went back to my room, dried off and nursed my wounds. My knee is still killing me, but at least I can laugh about the situation now. Poor Mollie-dog. What must she have thought when I landed on her?