Maggie used to have one of those Kettler trikes. One of the tricycles with the push bar? She would sit on it and yell PUSH ME! PUSH ME!
Someone got sick of this.(It was me, I admit it). So I got her a 12 inch bike with training wheels. No pushing allowed. Her first attempt on it ended in her telling me that the bike was broken and needed batteries. We gave her some time, and she figured it out.
This weekend, she was obsessed with going for rides on her big girl bike. Which I was all for. And Cam, obviously, went with us. Riding SUPER FAST. And screeching on his brakes to do burn outs. Maggie is not at that level yet, but she very badly wants to be. So, she followed Cam down our steep driveway, got going really fast (with a huge smile on her face) and I panicked and tried to slow her down, and in the process, pulled her over and managed to dislocate my shoulder (it popped right back in and the PAIN, let me tell you...)
She cried for a good hour after it happened. Her elbow was a bit swollen, and I was in pain, and now huge guilt was weighing on me because I basically did it to her, right!? If I hadn't reached for her handlebars, I bet she just would have just careened into the back yard and fallen on the grass (hindsight is 20/20). I got an appointment for both of us at urgent care. When we got there, she was still very, very sad. She ended up passing out on my shoulder, and as the doc manipulated her arm, she didn't even move. So it obviously wasn't broken. She is favoring it a lot, but I think it's just sore (like my shoulder, god damn it).
By the end of the day yesterday, I was so mentally burned out from worry I was physically exhausted. Before I had kids, I never worried about anything enough to take a physical toll. A mother's (and fathers, poor Aaron) love is fierce.