Stroller: 1 Elizabeth: 0

I am not what one would call graceful, which is a wee bit ironic in the sense that my first introduction to any kind of organized physical activity was to both tap and ballet as a four year old. I was in the advanced class, even! But for reasons that would require an explanation longer than necessary, I had to quit. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been the next principal ballerina for…oh, who am I kidding, I can’t even come up with any choreographers’ names. (I do have some serious love for ballet though.

Suffice it to say, I’m pretty clumsy. Nothing need be in my way for me to trip and fall. Anytime Rolf hears an, “OW!” escape my lips, his immediate response is, “Do we have to go to the emergency room?”

I will say that, oddly enough, I was the most stable during pregnancy than any other time in my life. I managed to fall one time. Never mind the fact that it was a doozy, requiring a visit to the Labor & Delivery unit for contractions caused by the fall, not to mention huge scrapes and bruises that lasted until after Vivi was born.

But I digress. I’m clumsy, you get the point.

Last night we made a brief visit to the Crescent Hill Festival just down the street from us. We wanted to pretend that we were social and that having a baby hadn’t changed our ability to be fun and fabulous. Reality came crashing down when we had a screaming, sweaty baby, a sweaty and nearly screaming mom, and then Vivi had an explosive poop that managed to escape her diaper, past her belly button, and onto her second outfit of the day. 

It was time to go.

Rolf hightailed it to the car to get her in air conditioning and I somehow missed the cue that he had made a run for it. When I realized he was gone, I wandered to the car too, only to find Rolf consoling the screaming Vivi in the backseat with the stroller just in front of the car.

The lovely people who parked behind us didn’t really give us enough room to open the back of the car and put the stroller in. I knew we only had a matter of minutes (seconds really) before Vivi had an utter meltdown, and then we’d all follow suit. So here I am, rushing to get the blasted Hummer of a stroller into the car when *POP* goes the metal of the stroller into my left jaw. I opened my mouth to hear another pop, this time caused by my jaw. Well, just great.

At this point I am a hot, teary mess and stumbled my way into the car, with my tail tucked between my legs. I get home, grab the nearest bottle of pain reliever and take two, and then proceed to open and close my mouth, hearing a pop every now and again which continues to freak me out.

There’s no moral to this story, other than the fact that I am currently eating foods approved for babies since I basically can’t chew anything today. My only consolation is that ice cream is on the injury approved list.

It may have been my first run-in with the stroller, but I’m sure it won’t be my last.