The other night, we took Kate to the high school girls’ basketball game. I thought it would be good for her to see female athletes in action (Jenny stop rolling your eyes!) and all.

When we arrived, Kate and I followed Andy about 3/4 of the way up the bleachers and took a seat. I didn’t think twice about where we were sitting… problem number one. For some reason, Kate was really worried about falling down… as opposed to the last time when we were in that gym, when we couldn’t get her to sit down. I kept telling her not to worry, that there was no way she was going to fall through the bleachers. (My internal dialogue “Famous last words, dummy. But really, who’s ever heard of someone falling through the bleachers?” I don’t think I want to google that and find out.)

So time went on and Kate got a little more comfortable.

A little too comfortable.

But not nearly as comfortable as her cracker-jack parents, who were watching a too much basketball and too little three-year-old.

It took a very calm, very matter-of-fact voice to get my attention.

“Bye, Mommy. Bye, Daddy. I’m falling.”

She was behind us, sitting on the part where feet are supposed to go, with her little legs dangling precariously through the crack, holding onto the row in front of her for dear life.

The next 15 seconds are a blur to me, but Andy and I both grabbed her and pulled her up. She didn’t understand why we were suddenly squeezing the breath out of her.

Andy turned to me and said, “Do not look down. I just did and it made me sick to my stomach.”

I kept thinking about Kate saying “Bye, Mommy. Bye, Daddy. I’m falling” and I was laughing hysterically. It was definitely one of those laugh-to-keep-from-crying moments.

The rest of the night, I kept thinking about what could have happened. I was so thankful to see my little girl sound asleep in her bed.

I also spent the rest of the night mad at myself and Andy… what kind of parents take their child so far up into the bleachers? DUH. Lesson learned, I suppose… but still. Ugh.