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Parenting in Prague: playing with the perception of risk in a foreign land.

Article Excerpt
BEFORE I BECAME A PARENT, I might have been considered a risk-taker. I'd toured on a street bike, aggressively ridden ATVs off-road, and piloted small aircraft. However, the hormones of pregnancy forever altered my brain, and within nine months I'd become hardwired as a mom. Suddenly, I feared--not so much for me (though motherhood did slow me down somewhat), but for my daughter.

I did all the typical "new mom" things. When Samantha was an infant I would check to see if she was breathing at night. I ran to her bedside at every squawk. When she finally slept through the night, I'd wake up in her stead, imagining all the horrors that could prevent her from waking (other than her obvious ability to sleep through the night, which I'd been dreaming of for months). I didn't give her a pillow until she was nearly two, for fear of her smothering. When she began to walk I cushioned every hard surface, for fear of bruises. At playgrounds, I'd "spot" her as she played, shadow her every move, shout "Be careful!" at critical moments. OK, every few seconds. Call me overprotective--I couldn't bear the thought of my little girl coming to any harm whatsoever.

Then, this past January, our family moved to Prague. In doing so, we hoped to broaden our horizons and learn something from the Czech culture. I was expecting to become more politically aware, live more simply, better appreciate what we have at home, soak in the rich, age-old environment--the castles, the architecture, the music. But sometimes learning comes...