I get myself in the most ridiculous situations. You know those times when after it's all said and done you think to yourself (or scream out loud): "something like that could only happen to me!" Of course you don't. Because something like that could only happen to me.
The most recent foolish, crazy thing I did? Josie and I were sitting in the doctor's office waiting for him to come in for her 1 year check-up. All was going well, except that Josie was getting a little antsy. So, I rooted around in my bag (note to self: bring a toy next time) for something she could play with. What I came up with? A small spray bottle with water in it that I use to "clean" her paci when it falls on some less than pristine floor (like the doctor's office) She loved the little bottle...until she decided she'd had enough, and threw it on the floor. The cap was already roaming around in my diaper bag, but the little squirt top thingy went rolling under the chairs in the corner of the room. I knew it was going to be an issue getting it since I didn't really want her crawling around on the dirty floor, and had nowhere else to put her while I "crawled" under there to get it.
Why is it that just when you're about to show your backside to the door that the doctor comes strolling in? hmmm...it's a conspiracy. Kind of like how the door to the OB/GYN examining room is always to your back, making it a little difficult for a VERY pregnant woman any shred of decency with that little scrap of paper she has wrapped "around" her body. (I should go into business making those papers a little bigger...and a little less prone to rip down then front!)
Anyway, the doctor walked in, and I decided to go after the litte squirt thingy AFTER he left. Good thinkin,' Licoln. The appointment went well, he left the room, and I got down on the dirty floor. I kept Josie in my left arm while I started to reach under the chair with my right. There was a bar going across the front of the chair that gave me pause as I determined whether my (fat) arm would fit better under the bar or over. I opted for over. That proved to be a costly mistake. I should have gone with: move the chair and pick it up gingerly. I didn't.
I put my (fat) arm above the bar and decided that it was too short to reach the little squirt thingy.
No problem, I'll just go under the bar this time. So, I proceeded (unsuccessfully) to extricate my (fat) arm from above the bar. This is where it all went dreadfully wrong. I quickly discovered that my (fat) arm was indeed too short and too fat. How it got in there in the first place is something I will continue to ponder. How it got out was an act that really should have been caught on camera. I tugged. I pulled. I fidgeted. or maybe that was Josie in my other (fat) arm wondering what in the world I was doing. I tugged and pulled some more. The chair moved just fine - away from the wall, crashing back into the wall and then some. My (fat) arm, on the other hand, was content to remain a permanent fixture in that little office. I did finally get it out (I think it was the panic factor in me when I realized that, yes, the doctor was gone, but the nurse was sure to show up at any moment to give Josie her shots. Once I realized that, it slid out like it was slathered in butter. Then again, maybe it was, since it's so fat and all.
After that, I let Josie crawl around on the dirty floor.