The World = Playground

Nora runs. And runs, and runs. She begs to be let "outta FRONT door!" so she can go "running down the LANE!" Take her to a store and you better figure out a way to lure her into the cart seat, and then a way to keep her there, or you won't end up with groceries - you'll end up scurrying through the aisles after a two and a half foot tall blur of enthusiasm. Nora is not a velcro child, unless a stranger is agile enough to make eye contact. Then she pastes herself to mama's thigh and hides her eyes.

She wants to climb, too (though she's never been a bookshelf climber, thankthesweetlordjesus). She dances, and spins until she's dizzy, and swings like a gymnast from her "tower." She takes her fair share of tumbles, that's for sure.

The playgrounds, then, are a daily destination. She stares at the bigger kids, and is fearless when it comes to heights. Just last week, she scampered up the stairs to the top of a slide, grabbed the overhanging bar, and lifted her feet. She swung there, 10 feet up, secured only by her slippery fingers, as mama called out tightly, "Nora! Put your feet down. Sit on your bum and slide down!" Sure enough, she resisted, and mama's premonition came to pass: those fingers slipped off that bar and Nora spun down and to her left, ending up in a head-first fall ... miraculously broken by the slide itself, which delivered her, in the shocked silence of the playground mamas, to the bottom of the slope. The final result was a bonked head and a fright, nothing more. Nora's tears dried quickly, but mama's heart didn't stop pounding for an hour.

She's physical, but (in technique, at least) careful. She's fearless, yet meticulous. She's insistent and thorough and quick to learn from observation. Mama and Dada are trying hard to walk that tricky line between keeping her safe and encouraging her confidence. We bite our fretful tongues. We want her to know that the world can be dangerous, but that we also believe she can both survive the pitfalls and master the complexities.

You know, people had us armed to the teeth with advice for the infant years. But the toddler years? We'll let you know when the bruises fade -- ours, not hers.