I'm a klutz. There is no way around it. I lack coordination. I've been known to walk into walls and fall over my own feet. In middle school I broke my ankle on a pencil. A pencil. I was doing a cartwheel, and random pencil on the basketball court landed me in the emergency room and earned me an air cast that put a quick end to my cheer leading career. Seriously. A pencil.
From the beginning of each of my pregnancies I prayed that my children would not inherit my coordination.
Problem is, I think my daughter may have.
Fortunately she's more outgoing than I was, so she is better at trying new things than I was. But personality doesn't make an athlete.
So far we've tried soccer, ballet, swimming, basketball.
Last week she started tennis. She asked about gymnastics, but I was worried she may seriously hurt herself - plus its the wrong time of year - so we are going with tennis.
Tennis. A sport that requires you to pay attention to a ball. To put your bond in line with said ball, and hit it with a (relatively small racquet).
I know. Its just tennis. But if it was me out there, I'd probably come home with another broken ankle.
Cross your fingers. Cross your heart. Say a prayer. Knock on wood.
Whatever it is that you do when you need things to go your way, send a little of it our way, that BG's coordination will be better than mine and she will survive tennis.