Kaylee and I were playing on the stairs last night, when she initiated me into a game she’s been playing with her dad. (Did you get a sinking feeling when you read “stairs” and “game” in the same sentence?)

I was kneeling at the bottom of the stairs and she climbed about six or seven steps up — out of my reach, by quite a bit. Then she threw Kitty at me. I caught the cat, flipped it in the air a little to make Kaylee giggle, and then tossed it back to her. “This is a fun little game,” I thought. Then Kaylee threw Kitty at me again, and in the four-tenths of a second I was looking down at Kitty, Kaylee dove down the stairs.

I think the neighbors four houses away probably heard me yell “OH MY GOD” when I looked up and realized my daughter was falling through the air, completely trusting me to catch her.

Also, I think my heart stopped a little bit.

It restarted just in time for me to catch her right as her head started to hit the wall and just before she would have smacked her face on the bottom step. She made it through the incident completely unscathed, if a little whiny because I’d scared her with all my yelling. I am pretty sure that I, however, will have lasting psychological scars.

I think she and her dad need to come up with a different game.

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