It never stops.

We were at a party last weekend. Children were dashing about with little Missy in hot pursuit. Whenever she tired of that, there was always a nice, big aerobics ball to push around.
So, I spent a good fraction of the evening worrying that she would:

1. get trodden on
2. trip over
3. lose control of the the ball and end up doing squashed hedgehog impersonations.

I might add that none of the above options eventuated, and she had a fine old time.

Presumably, at some point, I will think that she's big enough do all this stuff without seeming to be continually on the brink of disaster. Hopefully, it will happen before she's old enough to glare at me disgustedly whilst saying 'Da-ah-ad!

My in-laws have just celebrated their diamond anniversary, and were consulted on this matter. They answered that it took at least sixty years. Not a good sign!