This Weekend's Theme: Splat

This weekend, we broadened our social circle. And it was painful. On Saturday our next door neighbor came over to ask us to a poker game. We've spoken to them more than anyone else in the neighborhood. This amounts to around 5 times in the last year and a half. It's to Kent's credit that he makes me go to these things because although we always have fun the thought of meeting a house full of new people makes my palms sweat and gives me the immediate impulse to crawl into a corner in the fetal position for the rest of the night rocking myself. I wish I were exaggerating.

We went, we ate, we watched all of the kids run amuck which is still rather like watching a National Geographic profile of some strange and far away tribe. There were about 10 of them, all elementary and middle school aged. I wanted to take notes right there on the poker table.

All of the couples were at least 10 years older than me which was weird. It was like playing poker with my parents. Well, a younger version of them anyway. They kept the radio on a light rock station for the entire night and kept saying things like "I played this song at my sweet 16". And trust me, they weren't talking about Nirvana. So it was a bit surreal in that regard but everyone was very, very warm and friendly and we had a good time.

At one point during the night one of the women got up to get a cream puff (yes, they had freaking cream puffs at poker). As she was taking her first step she caught her foot on the folding chair and went splat on the floor. We all just kind of sat frozen for a couple of seconds waiting for her to move, then when we saw that she was OK we could not stop laughing. Poor woman couldn't live it down for the rest of the night. Everyone just kept saying they were glad it wasn't me, the preggo, who fell.

Sunday was our friends son's (English teachers are instructed to ignore my horrendous use of the possessive.) 1st birthday party. We gave Kent's friend a ride to the party as well and on the way there we were telling him all about the night before and how funny it was when that woman ate shit. When we arrived I opened the Jeep door and put one foot down on the ground thinking that it would be safer than the curb, lest I slip off. What I failed to take into account was the fallen leaves in the street were slippery. My foot slipped on the leaves before the other leg made it all the way out of the car and I went splat. On my belly. On our baby.

I don't even remember falling. I just remember coming to my senses on my right side and assessing any damage. It didn't hurt when I hit my tummy. In fact, my belly felt fine. The only thing that hurt at all was my arm which I scraped on the way down. Because nothing hurt it took a couple of minutes for the panic to set in. Kent was at my side in .2 seconds and I was able to tell him that I fell on the baby and we needed to go to the hospital to make sure he was OK before I lost my shit.

Then, the white noise of panic entered my head and I couldn't think anymore. I was just trying to concentrate on feeling our baby move. Which he wasn't. By the time they made me get into the wheelchair to take me to labor and delivery my mind was shutting down completely. The first thing they asked is if the baby was moving and I had to tell them no. I went from being scared to just completely unable to deal with the possibility that he might not be OK. It's an over used phrase but I can honestly say I have never been so scared in my entire life.

They made me undress, put on a hospital gown and get into one of the beds all while asking me 3 million different ways how I fell. I know they were screening for abuse but good lord I just wanted to scream "MY HUSBAND DIDN'T DO THIS LEAVE HIM ALONE HE'S SCARED TO DEATH TOO."

I was, in my daze, just following the nurses orders. Kent thank God had the presence of mind to ask her if she could please try to get a heartbeat right away so that we could stop panicking. She promptly strapped me to the fetal monitor and for what felt like an hour, said nothing. We heard nothing. I felt nothing. Finally Kent asked if there was one and she was like "Oh, yeah, it's right there. Let me turn the volume up so you can hear it."

I wanted to kiss her and smack her all at the same time.

Once she strapped the monitors around my belly, the shrimp got annoyed and started trying to kick them right off. We were both monitored for an hour just to be sure everything looked good. So for an entire hour we got to listen to his heartbeat get louder and fainter as he swam closer and farther from the monitor. The best part was hearing him kick me at the same time I felt it. He was trying so hard to get those straps off that my stomach kept jumping. He was perfectly fine.

Being that frightened is exhausting. I don't think I've really fully recovered from the stress of it yet. Today my arm is very sore and my knee is as well so I'm pretty sure they got the worst of the impact. I'm a klutz even without this big belly throwing off my balance and after yesterday I'm scared to leave the house by myself. Everything looks like a danger. I want to burn my car (or at least get rid of it). But we can't afford to get a new one yet so it looks like I'll have to get over it. The most important thing is that our little man is OK. He's been letting me know all day how unhappy with me he is for the jolt.

In the end I learned a valuable lesson from all of this: Don't laugh at people when they fall even if it's really funny because Karma, she's a fucking bitch.