Otto went to play with a friend today, while Biggie and I did some shopping.

When I left, they were headed for the backyard trampoline.

When we got back, they were still at it. I sat down for a glass of wine and a chat with Mum, while they jumped. And jumped. And jumped.

“We’re all care and no responsibility,” she commented. “We don’t have pads over the springs, but they don’t seem to go near them.”

Less than a minute later, her daughter climbed off the trampoline. And the next thing we knew, Otto was UPSIDE DOWN, head down, headed for the brick paving.

“FUCK!” yelled other mum (something she maintains she NEVER says).

I ran.

Somehow, I don’t know how, she managed to complete her aerial somersault and land flat on her back on the lawn, right beside the brick paving.

I did not breathe, I swear, until I saw her moving.

She seems to be fine, other than a small bump on her forehead and a little grizzliness. She can wiggle her arms and legs, and knows how many fingers I am holding up. She ate her dinner and kept it down.

I never know, in these situations, when I should go to the doctor. In the end, we came home and she curled in a chair to watch a DVD.

I am leaning towards taking her to our GP tomorrow evening, though, just to confirm that she is okay. I suspect that makes me a paranoid mother, but I don’t think I care.

I was calm and collected at the time – and certainly there was no blame to be apportioned – it was just one of those accidents. Now, though, I am tired and emotional and very relieved that it was so mild.

Googling trampolines and child safety, the message is grim.

Meanwhile, she will go on the commercial trampolines at the beach, but they are at ground level (in a pit) and with pads. Much safer.

I don’t think I will ever forget the sight of her beautiful little head crashing towards the ground. I will still be having nightmares about it when I am eighty.