The Stair Master

The child has a mind of her own. They all do, really. But this child pushes it to the limit. It has become Christina's prerogative to give her mother a heart attack on a daily basis. She INSISTS on climbing up and down any set of stairs she can find. If I try to remove her from them, she screams til I put her down, and then turns around and climbs them again. The girl stands on the top step with her toes hanging over the edge and teeters. She knows how to turn around and go down the stairs backwards, but she refuses. She'd rather watch me writhe in my own anxiety while she just stands there- teetering.

She has a look of anticipation on her face. It's the look of confidence in her ability to master the stairs and make her mother crazy at the same time. I'm convinced she thinks it's funny. She thrives off of her audience turning blue in the face, while she just stands there. And teeters. It's a mean thing to do, really, and what upsets me is that she's come up with this scheme at the age of 19 months. Does this mean at the age of 19 years she's going to stand at the top of a cliff, attached to a frayed bungee cord and teeter, you know, just for grins, while I stand at the bottom in agony and watch? 'Is there an end to this child's recklessness or is it only the beginning?', I wonder with trepidation.

While I sit here knocking on wood, I can report that Christina has yet to fall down any stairs. She is clearly confident in her ability, but where she lacks knowledge on the subject is in the fact that falling down stairs tends to run in the family. For example, the other day we stacked some pillows at the bottom of the stair landing at the house we were visiting, in order to cushion a very hard and heavy radiator. Christina enjoyed her stair workout for about 15 minutes. The only one who managed to fall down the stairs that day was her father. The pillows saved him. Another famous family-stair-fumble occurred a few years ago when the kids' Uncle Jim fell down the stairs with an entire plate of lasagna. (Now that was one big mess). I recall the incident being especially dramatic when everyone thought the tomato sauce all over his face was blood!

Knowing her personality (and family history), I've concluded I'm stuck with the "Look Ma, no hands!" attitude from this child, and I must continue to suffer while she plays her stair-mastering mind game with me. At some point I'm sure the stairs will become boring and she'll move on to some other heart-stopping activity. Remind me to never give that kid a set of car keys!