Sometimes motherhood seems to consist of daring yourself to let your kids do things while not letting them see you’re shitting yourself. Mine are tiny but I can’t see it getting any easier. Yesterday I let Ziggler walk home from the park without holding hands other than to cross the road. My heart was pounding as I casually walked at the same speed as always. At every corner my flinch was barely perceptible. She was fine, of course.
Then she climbed to the tippy tip top of the climbing frame while I was strapping the baby into the pushchair. “gosh, that’s high!” I trilled as I nonchalantly trotted over. “Aren’t you brave?”.
I can’t help thinking of my parents, waiting wide eyed in the middle of the night for my drunken teenage door-slam. One day, I’ll have to send my girls on school trips. Let them out wearing too-short mini skirts. In CARS. Makes letting Ziggler find out for herself that nettles sting (the only way that works after all) seem like a walk in the park.