Oh yeah. I have a few. And that's only if I start counting since I got married!
I've called my sons' friends by the wrong names. I've burped in public. I've bent over or crouched down and ripped the seat or inseams of my pants more than once. Today -- which is what got me thinking along this vein-- I actually fell onto my backside at my office. (My briefcase, which I will swear weighs more than Bug does, was hanging on my shoulder. I crouched down to pick something up, and the stupid thing pulled me backwards. Yes, it was highly amusing to my office manager, who witnessed the whole thing, but the rest of you can stop laughing now!)
But I'd have to say that my most embarrassing moment happened when Coach and I were fairly newly married, and I was eight months pregnant with Jock. To properly appreciate this story, you have to understand what I looked like when I was that far along. Quite simply, I was as big as a freakin' barn. I have virtually no torso. No, really. There is maybe 6-8 inches or so (I'm really bad with guesstimates!) between my bust line and my hips. I'm also pretty short. Only 5'4". And that baby was HUGE. When he was born he was over eight pounds and was 21 1/2 inches long! That was almost TWO FEET of baby in an area that simply wasn't *quite* big enough to comfortably hold him. (Side note: Bug was almost as big, but by that time I had learned my lesson, so this embarrassing incident has not happened again!)
So there I was. Very pregnant. And it was the middle of the night. Now, if you've ever been pregnant, or been around many pregnant women, you will totally understand why I was up at 3 AM headed for the bathroom. Ahh... I see the lights going on out across the blogosphere.... you all know where this is headed, don't you? Yep, I had to go to the bathroom. Normally, this is not a cause for concern, even if I did have to go every thirty minutes. Normally, I could feel very comfortable that my bathroom trip was going to be uneventful. Calm, peaceful, and a huge relief. Not so this particular evening.
Coach had apparently gotten up at some point before me and used the restroom. The only partially reasonable excuse I can make for that man, even now--15 years later, is that we hadn't been married a year yet so he wasn't fully trained. I have to believe that, because the alternative is that he was just being cruel and had been hoping and planning for something like this for some time. And really, if I want to continue to love this man I have to believe that he would never be that mean. (No, I don't want anyone to try to convince me otherwise, thank you very much.) Yeah... you all know where I'm headed here. The stupid man left the seat up.
And I didn't see that until after I sat down. Fell in. Folded practically in half. And found my hugely pregnant self.... STUCK. In the toilet. Wedged so tightly that I could hardly even wiggle.
If you've ever fallen in, you know how cold that toilet water is, too. So yes. I screamed. And squealed. Loudly. And what did Coach do when he finally woke up and came charging to my rescue?
Stood in the doorway. Laughing like a lunatic. Until tears were rolling down his face. Clutching his stomach. He did finally manage to pull me out, at which point I darn near punched him in his nose.
Good thing I love that man.