The Girl has been rolling over for a few weeks now. Typically, I’ll put her on her belly to see if she’ll crawl, and she’ll prefer to arch her back, sit up on her hands, then push herself over onto her back. She’s not quite learned to tuck her chin when she goes over, so sometimes her head lands first. Which is fine, if she’s on the bed with a fluffy down comforter under her.
But when I lay a quilt or blanket on the floor, things look a little different. When she forgets to tuck her chin, there is a tiny thump and a small cry of protest. I feel for her, obviously, but realize that I can’t protect her from every discomfort and injury. I might like to raise her in a world of rounded corners, pillows, and soft landings. But that wouldn’t be fair to her. The world can be harsh, hard, and cold. I don’t want her to be that way, but I don’t want her to have any illusions, either.
Sometimes, even loving parents will allow pain and heartbreak to come to their children. Though they could protect them, they don’t. I guess Ella and I are both learning this.