He could wrap his legs behind his head . . .

My husband is a human pretzel. This is likely because at the tender age of three, his older brothers and sisters (five of them) would gang up on him and put his ankles behind his head. When I met him, he could put both ankles behind his head, balance on his palms, and walk around the room. It was quite the party trick, I must say.

Then there’s me. I have the flexibility of a concrete slab. I had dreams of being the next Shannon Miller or the Nadia Comaneche (sp.?). At the age of seven, I was turning cartwheels and trying my best to do the splits. I think my legs managed to get twelve inches apart, at best. After two years of trying to stretch and learn the splits, practicing every night, I gave up. My hips just don’t go that way. :hissyfit:But, I loved every minute of it, even though I ran into the vault and landed upside down on my head. Yes, I was very coordinated. A natural.

(A natural klutz, that is).

This actually factored into the naming of our children. We decided that we could never name our daughter Grace because of my er…delicate sense of balance. “Way to go, Grace,” would be a sarcastic remark, should she inherit my genes.

So imagine my shock when my son when to a birthday party and was asked to straddle his legs to warm up. The other children had their legs in a neat triangle position. And my boy was doing the middle splits.

You watch. My poor daughter will have Olympic aspirations and be unable to do the splits. And my son will wrap his legs around his head.