Sunday, 21 June 2015
A few weeks ago i fell over, in slow motion. I was walking to the supermarket pushing my sleeping baby when I seemed to trip, fall to my knees, tip the pushchair, land on my knees and keep hold of the pushchair (I was going downhill).
A few cars slowed down, but drove off when they saw I was okay. I bloody wasn't, I was shaken.
Mr Sam stayed asleep *phew* if fact he didn't even stir.
My jeans we're torn at the knees and I was shaken, I got the the bottom of the hill and got my phone out and spoke to a friendly voice (Carl).
I bought the bits from the shop, ignoring my ripped jeans (it's probably fashionable) and aching knees.
I got home and inspected my injuries: a nackered pair of jeans, a bruised right knee, bit bloody scrape on the left knee (complete with bruise) and a bumped ego. I got a cuddle for being brave and a plaster.
Now my knee has scabbed over nicely, I've been very good in *not* picking it, despite it coming away at the edges and saying "pick me pick me". I love picking scabs. But I'm trying to let this one fall off on its own, without any help from me, "no i didnt pick it, it just fell off in my hand" ;-)
If you don't like scabs, then don't look at this picture.