Inchworm Olympics

I'm a sucker for an underdog story and Ryan is a sports fanatic (really...he knows so many random facts and names that I've never even heard), so lately we've spent our evenings watching the Olympics.  Especially in gymnastics and swimming, where the athletes are often high school students, the camera always pans to the parents.  This never really affected me at all, but now - geez.  All I can think about is how nervous they must be, watching their baby dive off a 10 meter board or flip on a 4 inch balance beam. I sometimes tear up when Nora inchworms across the floor, inevitably chasing something that she's not supposed to have, like the newspaper, which she'll eat; the dog, who is a good sport but insists on licking her right on the mouth in return; or a dog toy, which is totally gross. We hold our breath every time, wondering if this will be the time that she figures out how to move her arms and legs in sync to crawl.  And then Ryan says something like "maybe Nora will be a gymnast." And I yell "NO! No, she is not allowed to be a gymnast! Too dangerous.  Are you kidding? No way. She's never leaving the house." 

And yet I know that she'll do whatever it is that she wants to do, because she already has a mind of her own. She gets it from me.  She currently is exercising this by attempting to climb me like a rock wall whenever I'm holding her, squeak-crying when she is being held by someone else and realizes Mom and Dad are not in the room, and reaching for every cup and piece of silverware in sight.

There was a dad/coach of one of the male gymnasts who does the Sign of the Cross and then "throws it" (in the same manner you'd blow a kiss) to his son before each routine.  Ryan said "that's weird," but I disagreed. I totally get it.  My dad used to pace outside the fence from one of the tennis court to another during my matches. He never sat down. In the same way, I'll be that crazy lady in the stands of whatever sport she's playing saying Hail Marys and rocking back and forth, attempting to do the motions with her.  Even if she's in the spelling bee, which appears to pose no physical threat, I'll be a nervous wreck.  (And so will Ryan. He just doesn't know it yet.)