When I was about Ittybit's age, possibly older, I rode my tricycle down our cellar stairs. My mother never let my father forget he was supposed to be watching me when it happend.
"Men don't know anything about watching children," she explained. "They think they are little adults with adult reasoning in tiny bodies. He just assumed you'd stay away from the stairs."
Of course it probably doesn't help my father, who is truly a nurturing soul, to know that EVERYBODY in my life has heard the story.
Oddly enough, it's a story that I sometimes forget.
Recently, when he was taking care of Annabel for the day by himself, he called me at work for advice and I was reminded.
"So we were walking down the stairs to go to the park and she brought both hands to the railing, hauled herself up and swung away from the steps. Then she said: 'Look, Papa. I'm a Monkey!' She did it for each step ... Does she ever do that with you?"
"No, dad, she hasn't yet. Please don't let her ride the tricycle, OK? ... Oh, and dad? You're doing a great job."