My child, much like myself, is clumsy.
exhibit a. Black eye from recent coffee table run-in.
exhibit b. Video of me attempting to give Charlotte some tummy time while Vivi plays close by.
I am convinced at some point in the near future Vivi is going to fall on, kick, or somehow bludgeon poor little Charlotte, but I try not to lurk or meddle too much in their interactions. I want so badly to shout "Be careful Vivi!," but I hold my tongue so as to avoid becoming one of those moms.
A week ago we took Vivi sledding, which was great fun. Charlotte and I spectated at the top of the hill, and another family to our left caught my eye. It was a father and his two little girls, four and six years old by my guess. Dad was deep in conversation with some friends he had run into, and meanwhile his precious girls were whooshing down the hill at considerable speed on a skinny plastic toboggan and having a blast doing it. They would frequently wipe out, at which point they would brush off the snow and turn around to trudge up the hill again, dragging the sled behind them. After his friends left, I struck up a conversation.
"You're daughters are brave!"
"Yeah, they'ah feahh-less."
"You must be worried about letting them sled on their own," I pried. He told me that the younger girl is just finally learning at 4 to look up the hill for oncoming sledders, but there are still many close calls. I asked additional questions to try to learn how this man could be so glib about such a dangerous situation, but then he said something that made me pause.
"At some point you just gotta let 'em go and hold yeh breath."
How right he is. I can creep and skulk around after Vivi in hopes to avoid any future collisions, teaching her only to rely on my lurking and doubt her abilities even more, or I can recognize that my best hope of teaching her motor skills is to back off and let her fall. So, I'm holding my breath a lot these days.
Thanks, Bostonian guy.