my little gymnast

My heart is beating a mile a minute. My daughter has become a daredevil. She's not even two.

• Jumping from her plush chair to the dog bed. 
• Jumping from her play chair to the couch, and back again. 
• Summersaulting. 
• Rolling. 
• Tucking. 

Put all of these together, and you get a mum on edge!

So here's the tough part: do I let her tumble to her hearts content, all the while my own heart beating out of my chest? Or do I stand over her, cushioning and cradling her every fall? I guess the answer is easy - I go somewhere in the middle of those two extremes - but I can't help but want to pad my house with colourful, cushy mats in every free space.

I'm no stranger to roughhousing. I grew up as a girl who played plenty of sports and and spent lots of time play fighting with my older brother. I watched my mother wince as we did so, but she normally let us carry on, so long as we weren't really harming each other in any way. But now, as I watch my little acrobat fly through the air with the greatest of ease, I'm the one wincing. She doesn't have complete control of her little body yet - which perhaps is a good thing - she still knows how to go limp before a fall; however, this doesn't control my reactions.

I can't help but wonder if I would be more comfortable with the tumbling act if she was a boy - aren't they naturally more rough and tumble? Perhaps I'm over protective of my dainty little girl.

Oh, perhaps I'm just a normal mum.