The other day, I nearly dropped squirmy little Emma on her head; when I caught her, her hair was already touching the floor. It was one of those things where she was trying to squeeze out of my arms. She's taken to feinting first in one direction then quickly reversing and throwing herself in a different direction as my forty-plus-year-old reactions attempt to respond to the first deke.
I hope she'll realize the folly of this kind of thing, but I have my doubts. Happily she's got lots of baby fat to grab hold of!