As much as I was wishing it would have, pregnancy has not made me into a delicate flower. Instead, think walrus. Or maybe manatee. They're cuter. Anyway, a few weeks ago, BVZ threw his back out one Saturday morning, and my god, was he a baby about it. I took care of him for the better part of 12 hours, and that night decided to get in the shower at about 10:00 pm. We have a no-stick mat in the tub that someone (not me) had apparently taken out and put back in recently. Without re-sticking it. I stepped on the mat, it went flying, and so did I. Luckily, my instincts kicked in and I broke my fall by whacking my right arm on the side of the tub. It freaked me out something fierce and so my immediate inclination was to scream for BVZ to come rescue me. And rescue me he did. After about 10 minutes (in his defense it took him that long to get his broken back up off the couch and to the bathroom). I escaped without more serious injury, but was pretty banged up. The next day we moaned and groaned to each other and at some point attempted to take a walk around the block to get some fresh air. It isn't an exaggeration to say that we got lapped several times by Tony, the 98 year old neighbor. And he wasn't even in his scooter.