Falling down the stairs

I’m not very good at moving fast. Everyone in my family knows that it can take me quite some considerable time to lever myself up from the floor or make my way down the stairs. It’s frustrating, and annoying, but that’s just the way it is.

Except today, when Bubby D demonstrated just how alike we are, and clumsily toppled over at the top of the stairs.

And kept going, and kept going, and kept going.

Rarely have I moved so quickly as I did then. With a speed and co-ordination I didn’t know I had, the noise of her hitting each step echoed the fast beating rhythm of my heart as I anxiously awaited her screams so I’d know she was ok. It wasn’t until the screams began that I realised I’d been holding my breath, and I released it in one quick whoosh as I scooped her up and hugged her to my chest.

I’m lucky that she doesn’t take after me in the respect of being easily hurt. I’m very lucky that children are far more bouncy than adults, and that despite her tumble, within five minutes and after her screams subsided to hiccuping sobs and she looked up at me with her tearful face and somehow told me that she forgave me for not catching her when she fell, she was back playing with her big brother as if nothing had happened.

It took a lot longer than that for me to recover. Even as I told myself I was fine, and she was fine, I could still feel myself shaking.

When I told the Other Half, he responded by saying ‘it’s her first time’ as if there might be more. I hope there aren’t – and I’ll be making sure to shut the stair gate whenever I can in future!