Okay, so our church building is really weird. You can only cross from one side of the church to the other by going through the chapel or the gym OR
the stage. Quinn pooped her pants in the middle of sacrament and the mother's room happens to be on the side opposite where we were sitting. So I had to cross through the chapel to change her bum. On the way back, I decided to NOT walk directly in front of everyone in our ward in order to get back to our seats. SO--- I made the worst decision in the history of my church attendance. I decided to cross the stage.
I opened up the door to the stage and peeked into the blackened area, noting the chairs strewn about and the SERIOUS lack of light, but decided I would be fine. (I'm so much braver when I have someone with me-- even when that someone is Quinn.) I made it up the stairs and across the stage with no problem. Then I began my descent of the stairs at the opposite side. Everything was going great until I reached the last step (or what I THOUGHT was the last step), and stepped off into oblivion.
You know the feeling. When you realize, oh crap- I should've already touched the ground. Oh no, this is gonna be bad.
And
then... WHAM! A volleyball poll met my face and then the second one met my chest. (I actually had the thought- "oh, a volleyball poll. This IS a good place to store those. I always wondered where they were kept.") My foot met, what was ACTUALLY the last step, but in such a way as to render that foot completely helpless. And I.... well, I bit the dust, as they say. (Turns out, when things-- such as body parts--- hit a volleyball poll, it makes a sound like a church bell which I am quite sure can be heard for miles around.)
I sat there stunned for a good 3 seconds and then my brain registered that Quinn was crying. BRAIN: What? Oh, yeah. I was holding Quinn when that all happened. Where is she? AAaaahhhh- I'm STILL holding her. Whew! Nice one. I'm stronger than I thought. Wait, is she hurt? Umm....... no. Just scared. Scared. SHE'S scared. aahhh ha ha ha ha. (maniacal laughing)
I seriously laughed crazily while trying to calm her down. That was the only thing that kept me from crying my eyes out in response to the fear, adrenaline, and PAIN. oh the pain.
Anyways, this all has a happy ending. I hobbled out to meet Tyson, who promptly became frantic picturing me falling down the big 35-step staircase up to the primary room, but calmed down remarkably well when informed that it was actually the stage stairs I had fallen down. (it was dark, and there were polls at the bottom okay?)
But in all seriousness, I would like to pose a question:
Why does it hurt so much worse when you're older? My neice Maggie would've taken that fall, stood up, flexed her muscles, and stated, "That almost hurt my guns."
