Lately I feel as it I'm made up of spare parts. I'm all extra elbows, knocking knees and pigeon toes. Clumsily knocking into corners. Dropping glasses. Tripping over rugs. You can tell where I am in the house by the CRASH! TUMBLE! DAMMIT! sounds.
Perhaps I'm channelling my inner Carkeys. She is slipping further into the rabbit hole. The stairs have become harder for her to navigate down. I get her up twice a day on good days. The days when she isn't having a Groundhog's Day. On those days, she'll get up, precariously maneuver the stairs, go out to do her business, come in to eat, dance, go upstairs (which seems to be less of an obstacle), forget why she's there and come back down again.
In the past few weeks, however, I have to coax my sweet girl a few steps at a time as she hippity hops down. She's always been a stubborn, independent little missy. She won't allow us to pick her up despite her feather weight. So as she makes her way to the top of the staircase, I put my hands lightly on her chest to steady her. A few times, I have softened her fall when she missed a tread. But she does not complain. I gently brace her rear and she rises, smiles and shakes it all off. No whining.
So I will do the same.
Well, maybe just a few tears.