Cantaloupe

Babies are like scissors: you shouldn't run while carrying them. Both Julie and I are worried about tripping while holding Lyla.

I maintain that if I was walking along with Lyla and tripped, I would instantly sacrifice my body to protect hers. If I fell backwards, then for weeks I'd have to sit on a donut to heal my shattered coccyx, but Lyla would be fine after bouncing gently on my gut. If I fell forward, then I would spin mid-fall, wrench a spinal disc or two out of place, and again shatter my coccyx into a million pieces.

I'm not so sure about Julie, though. She might trip and toss Lyla into the air, expecting me to dive to catch her, risking life and coccyx.

I think we should run tripping drills just to see what we're made of. I'll buy two cantaloupes and write "Lyla" on them with a Sharpie. We'll each carry one for a weekend and try to trip each other when the other least suspects it. I don't know where the real Lyla will be during these drills; perhaps she'll stay with relatives. Anyway, if one of our cantaloupes breaks due to selfish falling, then--I haven't gotten this far yet. What would be the punishment for breaking your cantaloupe? Well, we'll cross that bridge when Julie comes to it.

I know I shouldn't joke about any of this, but what can you do? I suppose as Lyla gets older, starts crawling, walking, driving, and dating, we'll always be neurotic about something, and one day we'll tell her that our biggest worry used to be that we'd drop her.