It all started off nicely. We decided to take M out to see the water - or rather, we decided to take ourselves out to see the water, since we weren't planning to get M close enough to actually see the water for herself. We just thought it would make a nice backdrop for the photos.
So we loaded her into her stroller, and set off down the path. She seemed fairly unimpressed, but since all of the things that seem to impress her involve milk, it was unsurprising.*
We went over a bridge that is, incidentally, not a bad Pooh sticks bridge, and we intended to play on the way back, but somehow we forgot. As we rattled the stroller over the boards of the bridge, M's cheeks jiggled and it made her laugh. She's developed, over the last week or so, the ability to make happy noises. But I digress.
When we got to the water, the ferry was coming in, and I wanted to get a picture of M with the water in the background, so she would know later on that I had taken her to see the water, no matter how much she was incapable of actually seeing it, or appreciating it even if she did catch a glimpse of it at the time.
I walked carefully off the path, picking my way over some sand and stones, and sat on a log. My dad took several pictures.
This is the only one that survives.
Why, I hear you ask?
Because in picking my way back to the path, I started a chain of events that led to a catastrophic death for the camera.
I was carrying M and I was very careful when I was walking on the uneven ground. But on that last step, when I got to the edge of the pavement, I thought I was home free and relaxed. I caught my foot on the 4-inch lip, and pitched forward.
I'm very grateful that I spent all those years alternately playing sports and being clumsy. I've had a lot of practice falling. I managed to land all on myself and not at all on M. I came down completely on the point of my elbow and - amazingly, given my track record - seem not to have broken it. Though M is fine (in fact, is aggressively exuding good health and happiness, and pretty much was from about 30 seconds after the fall when she decided that she was over being startled and could stop crying) I am walking about with every muscle on the right side of my body protesting, and not a few bones as well.
The camera? As we were rushing back the mile to the car, worried that M might somehow have hit the ground or wrenched her neck or managed to spontaneously develop scurvy, my dad went to hand it back to me. I tried to take it with my right arm, which wasn't at that point capable of lifting anything, and the camera hit the pavement and died.
Poor camera. (But I replaced it today, because we've gone two whole days without documentation of M's life, and that's just not acceptable).**
The reason I like small towns is that I was quite worried about M, and it was fairly easy to find her medical care at a moment's notice without resorting to the emergency room. She wasn't, of course, exhibiting any signs of pain, but that didn't stop me from imagining those nightmare scenarios of internal injury. We called the father of a friend of mine from elementary school, who does family practice, and he saw M and - at my mother's request - took a look at me.
*Of all the things that the waterfront trail in Port Angeles is, flowing with milk and honey, or even just milk, isn't one of them.
**If M ever becomes famous, the paparazzi presumably won't phase her, since they apparently ain't got nothing on me. They, after all, will probably not be able to take pictures of her in the bath.
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