Confessions of a Spazz

Guys, I have a confession to make. We've lived in the area for over two years now and I just can't keep up the front anymore. It is simply too much effort to pretend to be something I'm not. So, I'm just going to confess. I am a spazz. By which I mean, I am a total, complete klutz. It is in my genetic makeup. No amount of concentration, muscle development, or grace lessons can change who I am. I like to believe that it somehow makes me more lovable--that my mishaps and foibles are more endearing than annoying. Heck, it helped me win Chad's heart back in our singles ward days (the first time I was at his house, I hit my head on a low hanging lamp. Twice. In a matter of minutes. His mom offered me a cold can of pop to hold on my bump). And people certainly aren't intimidated by me as I stumble my way through life, which has to help somewhat in the pursuit of making friends. But, lately I've noticed my "less-than-graceful" incidences are on the increase. Maybe it's because I'm pregnant. Maybe it's because I'm rounding the bend on 30. Maybe it's because I'm so darned tired all the time. Whatever the case, it's made it so that I can't pretend to be coordinated any longer. I have officially been ousted.

One example: Yesterday I hit myself in the head with my car door. What was I doing? Getting in. Hands were free. Vision unobstructed. For whatever reason though, my depth perception was off. And I bashed myself in the face with the driver's side door. A few weeks ago I fell down the stairs. Again, for no apparent reason. Luckily I caught myself (in a rather awkward position) and protected the poor unsuspecting fetus in my belly from becoming a pancake.

My blunders aren't restricted to the realm of physical comedy though. Since being pregnant, my breath has undergone an amazing transformation. Almost overnight it started to smell. And I do mean smell. Like, "does this girl even own a toothbrush?" kind of smell. I brush and floss and rinse to no end, but it makes no difference. Finally I broke down and bought some rather expensive, on-brand mouthwash that claimed to be able to conquer even the worst morning breath. The instructions said to brush your teeth, gargle with the mouthwash for 30 seconds, then rinse. Easy enough. So I set in with high hopes. I brushed my teeth. I measured out the correct amount of rinse. I gargled. And gargled. And gargled. As I daydreamed of donuts and Costco hotdogs (remember, I'm pregnant), my 30 seconds turned to a minute. Then several minutes. I probably had the stuff in my mouth a good 3-4 minutes before I snapped out of it and spit. No bother, right? If 30 seconds is good than 3 minutes should be fine. It's only mouth wash. WRONG. I had apparently swooshed the stuff around my ol' kisser long enough to actually alter the chemical makeup of my mouth. My taste buds were burnt. For 3 days everything tasted like toothpaste. Every time I took a breath through my mouth it had the minty cool sensation you get after eating an altoid. On the upside, Chad said my breath smelled like it had been recently brushed, no matter what I had just eaten.

And so, I confess. I am who I am. I will no longer pretend that I can push a cart through Office Depot without knocking over a huge display of dvds (hey--at least I picked them up). Or that I can run on the treadmill without falling (although this has only happened once, so it hardly counts). Or back my brand new car out of the driveway without hitting a trash can and shattering my rear light (in my defense, it was dark and the trash can had been knocked into the street). Or that I can make a snow cone with a silly $10 kid's snow cone machine without needing stitches (even the nurses made fun of me for that one). I will continue to console myself with the fact that I have never done anything really bad. I have never started a fire or dropped a baby. My accidents only hurt myself, and it turns out I heal rather quickly. And I can live with that.

***One last confession since I'm here anyway: I am a rather newly called Primary chorister and our primary program is coming up in two weeks. Being the uncoordinated goof that I am, the thought of standing on a pedestal in front of the entire ward and "gracefully" conducting music in time with a really good pianist has me really nervous. So nervous that a few nights ago I dreamt that my primary presidency fired me and brought in an amazing lady from another church's gospel choir. I remember being sooo relieved in my dream. Also, really impressed. Somehow the lady convinced Bishop Leder to let the kids all wear choir robes while they clapped and swayed enthusiastically to the music. It may have been just a dream, but it was the most entertaining primary program I have ever attended.