This morning we took a tumble down our super-steep, super-slippery stairs. Yes, I say we, because when I fell I was carrying Zoe. I wasn’t even rushing. But in a split second my heel lost contact with the 8th step from the bottom, and we came crashing down the rest, around a corner and all. Somehow I managed to keep a firm grip on Zoe’s little body, as mine jolted to the bottom, only halting as my outstretched legs slammed into the fridge.
I let out an awful scream (which I think was the only reason my fellow stumbler cried), and almost instantaneously Izaac came running down the stairs. In my shocked, teary-eyed daze, all I could see was what looked like a rapidly moving rainbow up above me (which turned out to be Izaac’s multi-coloured, striped undies).
In the end, we both fared pretty well. I’ve been reclining on the lounge for most of the day, dosed up on painkillers and with heat on my tailbone, and the little one has been dozing for long periods thanks to yesterday being 4 month immunisation day.
*Does that word not look strange when typed three times consecutively? Perhaps it is my post-fall stupor?