Eldest Hobbit fell down the stairs in a most spectacular fashion the other day.
There is a moment, when you realise the noise you are hearing is not a normal thumping of heavy size 12 feet but a rather different sound. Heart in mouth I literally leaped to the bottom of the stairs in time to see him end his cartwheel in a heap at my feet. Nothing was broken, the only memento he has are two bruises, one on his hip another on his knee.
I am ashamed to say he is not the first to take the express route. When they were 18 months old Youngest Hobbit escaped from the stair-gate (we binned the damn thing after it became apparent the adults in the house were the only ones to find it troublesome to open.) The next thing, that sound of child hitting steps, filled me with horror. I rushed him to hospital, sure I would be told that I had broken my own child and what an awful parent I was!
"Don't worry about it," the doctor said nonchalantly, "babies bounce."
I won't mention the fact that Eldest Hobbit's first visit to hospital happened after he dug his tiny 4-month-old feet into his changing table mat, gave an almighty push and shot off the end of it. Their hapless father was in charge that day, it very nearly ended him. Say no more.