Monday afternoon I was trying to wrangle Timmy into the car and, when he wasn't going willingly, I was forced to pick him up. While juggling my car keys, cell phone and a planking toddler, I tried to meander through the yard to the driveway. I stepped into a divot and instantly knew I was going to fall. Somehow I managed to put Timmy upright on the ground before fully losing my balance.
While I laid on the ground in pain as I was frantically trying to access the situation, Timmy took the opportunity to run around the yard. He gleefully tried to hug the large inflatable pumpkin, through a few sticks into the woods and waved to the airplanes as the flew overhead. When I saw him grab a baseball bat from the corner of the porch before barreling towards me, I realized that it was time to start moving. In that moment, I was fairly certain that the pain I was experiencing was only going to intensify if he reached me with the bat.
I am lucky that I didn't break anything when I fell. I tweaked my knee, but I think after a few days I'll be okay. In the meantime I'm trying to be cautious and not to overdo it. When I twist or bend suddenly I am reminded of my tumble, so I am trying to be as still as Timmy will allow.
I hate falling. The experience always reminds me of my own vulnerability. While intellectually I know that even my able-bodied friends would have lost their balance if they stepped into the hole, I can't help but feel susceptible to falling. I hate feeling weak!