When my older daughter was five, I signed her up for her first gymnastics class. It was either that or figure skating. I’ve always loved to watch both but never possessed the body type to excel at either. Come to think of it, I also don’t possess the discipline, but that’s a post for another day. So I signed my daughter up in hopes of living vicariously through her. But I wasn’t going to turn into one of those stage-mothery types who push, push, push. It soon became fairly clear that this was the least of my worries. My daughter wasn’t about to become the next Nadia Comenci. But she enjoyed the sport and stuck with it for a few years, even if they didn’t pull her from the ranks and insist she join the competitive classes.