Yesterday the little man was sitting on the throne, telling me a story. As I leaned back against the wall while absorbing this riveting tale about Rosie and Railways, I continued to escalate in a descending manner, and my lean gave way to...OUCH. It turns out that the wall that I was so sure would support me leaning against it was not where I had anticipated. Have you ever done this? You think you are stepping onto a flat surface but the step is much lower than expected and your leg keeps going and there is only air? It was like that. Only I started to lean and then it felt like five minutes had passed and I was still in James Bond free fall and then--then my tochis was all wet. Because it turns out I had leaned not into a wall but into a shower stall. There was no wall. There was only an illusion of a wall. I think they call it a shower curtain. So there Little Man was pooping and blabbing and there I was starting to lean and falling into a shower. My booty was now hurting and sitting in a puddle--insult to injury--and my elbow was throbbing.

"You scared me, Mommy!" said the Little Man, finishing up on the porcelain pedestal.

Oh, Son. Scary is not Mommy falling into a shower. Scary is how you share DNA with Mommy.

The saddest thing about all this was that we were at swim lessons for Baby Girl. And let us not even explore the ramifications of how a mother took her two children to swim lessons at the indoor pool, and how one child in appropriate bathing attire jumped into the pool and the other needed to be taken to the restroom and, upon returning from the restroom, only the mother had a wet spot on her behind.

Exit, stage left.