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During my pregnancy, the baby took up most of my belly’s real estate. Even at the best of times, the occupied space was irritatingly uncomfortable. The tiredness made for increased clumsiness and I spent more time than I’d like to admit picking up the shit I knocked on the floor only to repeat the same mistake again and again. Towards the end, I began to declare that things on the floor are dead to me, so that I could deal with my limited mobility, but also use humor to engage others to assist my clumsy ass.

After the baby was born, I thought I’d be better at picking crap up that I knocked over. Employing matrix-like flex skills, and draining every ounce of energy from my legs, I’m grateful I spent so much time in the gym doing leg presses and squats.

How I feel picking up shit off the floor with sleeping baby in my arms

Sometimes I can employ the old toe grab, and try to toss it into one of my free hands. Channeling my inner chimpanzee is all well and good, but gets old rather quick.

Feet? Oh you mean my second set of hands? Yes, I am a veritable octopus…er, quadropus…

Ah, mom life.