Not named "Grace"
by Sara Elizabeth

About nine and a half years ago, when I was pregnant with my son, I had a hard time sleeping at night. So as not to deprive my (now ex) husband of his well needed rest, I would often spend the late nights downstairs in the living room, watching bad television, and then go to sleep in our guest room.

One saturday morning in april, at this point seven months pregnant, I awoke at about 6 a.m. to a strange sound. wandering around my house, I couldn't locate its source... It seemed to be coming from outside. Wearing nothing but a t-shirt over my burgeoning belly, I stepped out the front door of my condo, and down the walkway to the drive in front of my house. There, hovering over the roof of the building next to mine, was a hot air balloon, clearly coming down for a landing.

In my excitement to share this with my spouse, I turned and ran back towards the front door. My lopsided body threw off my balance, and i slipped on the dew-covered grass. My right knee struck the cement sidewalk, and I was able to twist sideways to avoid landing on my unborn child. Still intent upon informing my husband of the incredible sight, I got up immediately, walked into my house, up the stairs, where I said, "honey, wake up! There's a "..." and passed out from shock.

I came to to find my husband ministering to a giantic gash on my right knee, which had bled all the way up my front walk, into my foyer, and up the stairs. I bear a nasty scar under the kneecap to remind me why I wasn't named "Grace".

No harm done - My son is a brilliant child, if prone to nightmares of being in a giant bag of water and getting clocked on the head.

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