If we've not met in person, you may not know that I'm not the most graceful person around. If we've met in person, you definitely know that.
I've split open my knee falling off a diving board, split my lip running (and I mean running) into a sliding glass door, fallen down stairs, gotten in more car wrecks (only one my fault!) than anyone I know, and other miscellaneous disasters over the past 27 years.
I'm also a dropper. You name it, I'll drop it. Like this full cup of coffee on the floor yesterday.
I did the same thing at Target about a month ago and was beyond mortified. I started digging baby wipes out of my purse but it was beyond what wipes can handle. They brought out the mop and I tried to bury myself under the bath towels and die.
So there was the coffee drop in the morning, followed by a giant broken trash bag in the afternoon, a broken bowl later in the day, followed by dipping the ends of my hair in the toilet when I was trying to help Liv finish up in the bathroom.
Like I said, graceful.
Unfortunately, Olivia has inherited my bad luck and lack of coordination. Steph goes so far as to call her Olivia Grace, despite that not being her middle name.
I like to say that it's not my fault. I got my first stitches at six days old thanks to a cyst around my right adrenal gland that left me with a whopper of an abdominal scar (that's in just the right place to create a faux fat roll) and I just haven't stopped dropping things and racking up the injuries since. My most recent is a super sexy burn along my right hand courtesy of my new curling wand.
So what's a girl to do? Buy a replacement cup of coffee (or six), keep a first aid kit in my car, and move along. Tomorrow's got to be less clumsy, right?