It has been precisely one year since a trained professional told me that I was getting old and feeble.

It all started because I am, and have always been, an ungrateful little soul. Last year for Christmas, Grandma purchased two really, really frilly dresses for Alexis. The concept is one that I still don't understand. She is but one child, Christmas is but one day, and yet there were two dresses. Remember how cheap I am? I don't see the point in spending lots of money on a dress that a kid will wear for no more than half a day. In my mind, if the kid isn't going to wear an item at least twenty times, it's not worth buying, regardless of the price. But it was Grandma's money, so I decided that we would make her wear one of the dresses, and the other would get returned.

Keep in mind that at 11 months, Alexis was not yet walking. I do believe that frilly dresses with no waists are the sworn enemy of crawling girls everywhere. For the brief time that Alexis wore the dress, she continually would try to crawl and would end up with her knees caught in the dress and thereby slam face-down onto the floor. After the twentieth time I saw her do it, I said the heck with appeasing Grandma and saved her from the evil frills. (Remember that Alexis--when bodily harm is involved, I do go to bat for you.)

The day after Christmas, we headed off to the mall with frilly dress and gift receipt in hand. More importantly, we had coffee in hand. If parenthood has taught me anything, it's the value of a $4 cup of caffeine. Anyway, we parked outside of the Sporting Goods store and made our way into the mall. (BTW, Mr. Husband was carrying Alexis.)

That is when it happened. The curb leaped up from the ground and attacked me.

I landed face first on the pavement.

Always one to try to pretend nothing has happened, I rushed into the store, still grasping EVERY SINGLE DROP of my precious $4 coffee (I find that detail to be very, very important). Assessing the damage, I found that I had ripped a brand new pair of jeans, tore a gash in my knee, and my left foot was really quite unhappy. I must have been quite a spectacle because all the parking lot witnesses stopped to inquire about my status. I told each and every one of them, "I didn't even spill a drop of my coffee!"

Yes, I do know what's important in life.

We continued on our way and managed to exchange the evil frills for some very sensible Alexis-sized jeans and t-shirts. My brain wanted to do more shopping, but my foot insisted that it was time to skedaddle. I spent the rest of the day not Christmas clearance shopping like I am supposed to, but rather sitting on the couch icing my very unhappy foot. Those of you that know me can probably suspect just how bad it had to be. I NEVER miss Christmas clearance shopping (just as an example, we stopped at 3 Targets just on the drive back from Indy this year).

For the record, I have a kick butt tolerance for pain. Really, kick butt. Not taking that into account, I decided that since I was able to wiggle my toes, the foot wasn't broken. I figured I had probably just strained some ligaments and that it would be fine in a few days.

We returned to Pittsburgh, a few days passed, and I found that the foot hurt just enough for me to think maybe, just maybe, I should go to the doctor. When I found myself sitting in an empty training room no more than forty feet from an Emergency Room with no indication that people would be attending class, I decided it would be ridiculous to not take a trip down. In my head, they would take a quick x-ray and I would head for home, feeling like an idiot for wasting a co-pay.

By now I'm sure you know where this is going. Of course the foot was broken. I spent the next four hours doing lots of impatiently sitting around and grumpily waiting and a little bit of sitting nicely while a Resident put a cast on my foot. As he was wrapping it, he made me feel absolutely fabulous by telling me that as we get older, our bodies start to become more feeble and that's why a little thing like slipping off a six-inch curb can result in a break. He was two years younger than me. If he hadn't already lost all credibility with that fact alone, he then went on to tell me that I would have to keep all weight off of the foot and use crutches until I was able to get in to see the specialist AFTER New Years (5 long days).

Hello?!?! 11-months old don't suddenly become self-sufficient just because Mommy is old and feeble.

Needless to say, I did a crap job of staying off the foot, but it healed fine all the same.

Last week when we were in Indy, we made a trip to the scene of the crime. Daddy parked on the opposite side of the mall knowing that the curb outside the Sporting Goods store has it out for me, then proceeded to hold my elbow as we walked in. Just like he would for a feeble, old lady.