Big time.
It is a trait that has run in my family for generations.
Usually on the lady’s side.
My Grandma is clumsy.
My Mom is really clumsy.
I am unbelievably clumsy.
And, it seems, my daughter is trying on clumsy as well.
It’s seemed to elude my youngest (so far), but my first born…..oh boy.
Watch out!
She is forever running into things.
Scraping things. Bruising things. Ripping things. Hurting things.
It might be part of the fact that she does everything full force. She is an intense girl. She has been since birth. Intense joy. Intense sorrow. Intense anger. Intense friendship. She is my fierce one. Plunge right in.
She is also the one who, for some reason, can’t see that she is about to plow – pinky toe first – into the corner of the island in the kitchen. She does this often.
She also seems to trip over her bed a lot. Which causes her to fall into her dresser.
Both have been in their spots since we moved in over two years ago.
So, she is constantly covered in bruises and scrapes and cuts. My poor, battered girl.
You got me trippin’, ooooh stumblin’, ooooh, flippin’, ooooh fumblin’, soooo clumsy ’cause I’m fallin’ in loooooove.
Oh no! I am NOT ready for that particular brand of clumsy yet….
Which is why the moosh wears a helmet when riding a tricycle INSIDE.