I’m not clumsy, I’m pregnant!
For your own safety, if you see Carrie in the mall, keep your distance.
I’m a clumsy person. I’m the irritating person who rams their trolleys into the back of your heels in a supermarket. I’m the person people point to and say, “shame”, but think to themselves, “Thank God it wasn’t me” when I knock over a store display. And I’m afraid to say, pregnancy has only worsened my condition.

Take today for example. Today, for the first time in about 20 weeks, five days and 6 hours, I felt like drinking coffee. A big moment for my pregnant self and I was going to make hay while the anti-nausea sun shone. So, while strolling around with my cappuccino, feeling remarkable like a normal person, I decided to take a look in Mr Price Home.
As I stood about 1,5 metres from a display of cushions, disaster struck. Without warning or explanation, the cappuccino jumped out of my hands and spilt dramatically all over the entire display. People stopped to stare. I was trying to keep it together but the urge to run was strong. Primal, actually.

But I didn’t – I flagged down the manager and began my apologies.

Me: I am so sorry! I’m pregnant!
Manager (looking confused): Uh, congratulations.
Me: No, no nooo, I mean that’s why I drop things! Well, I always have but it’s gotten so much worse since I’ve fallen pregnant – I’m so sorry!
Manager: I’ll have to make you pay for these I’m afraid.
Me: No, you can’t! My husband won’t let me have any more children if you do!

Now people were really stopping to stare.

Manager: Look, just stay here – I’m going to make a call.
Me (urgently scanning for nearest exit): Ha ha! Don’t worry I won’t do a runner!

He takes the remaining coffee out of my hands and backs away. Slowly. Watching me all the while. He has obviously dealt with pregnant women before.

I’m not sure if he’s calling a mental home or head office but he keeps his beady eyes on me throughout the call. On his return he confirms that I will in fact have to pay for the damaged cushions. All seven of them. All seven big, long, green monstrosities.

I try once more, weakly, “But I’m pregnant…” He frog marches me to the till, and I hang my head in shame as I max out my credit card on a lifetime supply of cushions. I try to look on the bright side. I guess it could have been worse. I could have been in Spillhaus or Wetherlys.
I phone my husband from the car, “I’ve got some good news! I’ve decided to re-decorate the bedroom! How do you feel about green…?”

Does pregnancy make you clumsy, or is Carrie just looking for excuses?

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