A pregnant Crystal. Watch out.

So I was accident prone before I got pregnant. Now my clumsiness has catapulted to OUT OF CONTROL. That "pregnancy brain" thing that people talk about: it's not a myth. (I thought it was a myth.) No, your brain doesn't actually change, but surging hormone levels cause strange things to happen.

Forgetting things (like how to spell, or send an email), spilling things, tripping over things, dropping things. Just to name a few.

The other day I spilled three drinks. In one day. Each one full to the rim. Normally my drink spilling is limited to once a week, so yeah, I can definitely tell something's up.

And it's a good thing I have these giant boobs to act as a net while eating. I can't count the number of new stains that have popped up on my wardrobe. Soon, though, I'm betting the belly will stick out far enough to be the new food-catcher.

So, internet, I just hopped on my old mishaps blog to say watch out. Unless you want your toes stepped on or something spilled on your crotch, then it may be best to limit your interaction with me to online-only.

I'm almost five months pregnant, and not showing too much yet, so you can expect me to become more dangerous as the center of gravity continues to shift.

New hair, same old me.

Hello friends. I'm back with a good one to tell. Albeit short and anticlimactic, but worth telling in my opinion.

Over the weekend I went to the hairdresser and she made some pretty drastic changes to my 'do. I've been rather blonde (dirty blondeish/light brown?) for a long time and I wanted to go very dark. It's close to black with some light brown melts toward the ends. A very subtle highlight. She also cut some inches, added some layers and freshened up the yuckies on the ends. Stunning. She did a fabulous job. I was feeling pretty fancy about myself after Collette told me what a great skin tone I had for pulling off this dark hair.

"I was skeptical about how dark you wanted to go, but now that it's done, I see that you have the type of skin and eyebrows that can pull probably any color off."  

My hair was shiny, the day was sunny, I had a date night planned and I was feeling confident about things in general. I contemplated the night's outfit and shoes as I jogged the stairs of Collette's basement salon.

Right as I arrived at the top step, the dreaded tip-of-the-shoe scuff happened. Just before the long trip from my feet to my face, a gorgeous couple pulled up in a nice car RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. For some reason, her eyes are what I chose to zero-in on as I collapsed to my dignity's demise. My book flew to the left, my keys flew to the right and my water bottle went straight ahead, rolling right underneath gorgeous couple's stopped tire.

My hands stung from catching my body's weight on the cold winter pavement, but my face burned more from the sheer embarrassment of the fall. I'm used to falling or making a fool of myself, but this was different. I was feeling so fantastically good-looking with my new hair and then the universe sensed that vanity and knocked me on my ass. That's what I get, I guess. (This reminds me of a separate story, similarly played out, of when I had some sassy new stilettos on. I wore them cautiously all day, wondering if they were too high for me to master. The second I felt that I could walk boldly and balanced, I tripped.)

The gal in the passenger side of the car opened the door and asked if I was alright. She collected my water bottle from beneath her Benz tire and handed it to me with a look of sweet pity in her eyes.

It seems stairs are a particular struggle for me. Remember these other accidents?

I tripped up the stairs yesterday

Okay. I predict that A LOT of posts on this blog are going to begin with the words "I tripped." I'm distracted, tired, stressed: whatever. It's inevitable. I trip, stumble or fall at least once or twice a day. Usually, it's a small ordeal; I'll pick myself up, brush off and go about my merry way. Yesterday, the trip sucked a little more than usual because it happened on the third floor
stairs at my apartment.

These aren’t ordinary stairs. They're the steel ones with cheese grater-like construction.


So it goes like this. On the way home from work, I'd drifted off into a deep sleep (one of the many perks of a carpool). It was one of those naps that leave you feeling that nothing else exists but you, your dream and the soft surface upon which you lay. Aaahhh car naps. Anyway, when Chris nudged me because we'd arrived home, I groggily picked up my lunch box and headed for the stairs thinking nothing else in the world matters more to me at this moment than sinking into the abyss of flannel pillows on my bed. I was on the last three stairs, so far luck was on my side, then it happened. My foot slipped.

The lunch box containing my Tupperware, phone, tampons and compact flew from my arm as I took a nosedive toward the next cheese grater stair.

The loud crash was followed by the tiny sound of my flip phone landing open, three floors below on the hot cement. That thing was brand new. I just bought it a month ago.

The imprints on the palms of my hands didn't go away for like an hour. It stung. Bad. But on the plus side, I was awake enough to make it to the gym.

Climbing stairs is a weak spot for me.