I looked up when I heard the scream. Nothing quite prepared me for the sight of my child's dress flipped over her head and her long, thin white legs stretched upwards as she cartwheeled down the staircase.
I swear t i m e s l o w e d d o w n.
"Catch her!" I yelled to my husband. He spun around, arms full of blankets and a pillow (I kid you not) and broke her fall before she could hit hardwood.
Z cried. My heart raced.
And she was totally fine.
Today's lesson? Only let your child fall down the stairs when one parent is stationed at the bottom with an armful of soft bedding.
