I've reached the awkward, tiring, uncomfortable stage of pregnancy. And indeed the stage of general incompetence. I can't remember words. I'm so bunged up that I can't breathe by about 5am and so wake up and cant' go back to sleep. I'm exhausted in the evenings and can't make conversation with H. And, oh yes, I fell flat on my face while simply walking along the pavement on Sunday, and now have an impressive scar running down my nose, and another on my chin, which makes me look like a very depressing kind of victim. I can see people eyeing me up and not wanting to say anything, but it's a bloody great scar, particularly on the bridge of my nose, so it's pretty hard to avoid.
It was an odd accident. We were walking along the South Bank to meet some friends. H was wheeling Pob in her pushchair. She was crying for some reason we couldn't quite understand. There were quite a few people around, but it's a wide space and so not that crowded. I felt myself trip. I wasn't that worried. It all happened in slow motion.
Moment 1: It's the kind of trip you correct easily with a little skip, and keep going.
Moment 2: Oh dear, I'm still falling. Ah well, if I just move like this I'll be upright again in a second
Moment 3: Nope, still falling
Moment 4: Well, I'll just land on my knees here and that will be that
Moment 5: Nope, still going down, what's WRONG with me?
Moment 6: Well, how did my face get there. Ooops, there go my sunglasses. And why is that packet of tissues in my hand?
It must have looked quite dramatic as two police on patrol came over to check on me. I got straight up. Of course Pob was screaming at this point, so I got H to get her out of her pushchair and hand her to me. I felt very shaken but ok. My glasses were trashed. I carried Pob into Tate Modern, met our friends, and took a few minutes to stop feeling wobbly. It was only later when I went to the loo that I realised I looked pretty dodgy, and the following day as the scars formed I looked even worse.
I then started to notice I was wobbly at other times. On the escalator on Monday when I went to hitch up my crappy maternity jeans that always fall down. Getting out of a taxi yesterday. Walking up the stairs into a hotel. I'm no longer a competent walker. Or stander. That's not very impressive, surely?