She hangs high above our heads, centered in a web of her own weaving. Her legs curl inward, such a fragile claw. I don't see her there at first. But she catches my eye as soon as I start pushing -- this swing higher higher higher, baby pushes for the other one. I think that spider silk must be made of something strong because I see it stretch as the swings move forward and back. The web twists and torques into a third dimension but it does not tear. Not yet. She rides the fabric under her feet, staying centered. I'm terrified she might drop. She might land right in my hair.