Thursday, December 6, 2012


First smile.
First word.
First tooth.
First wheelchair.

Never thought that would be in the baby book.

Last night, I watched my five year old at his first basketball practice ever.  I don't think we own a basketball.  Yet.  He stood, alone in the midst of the general mayhem of kindergarteners on the court, trying to dribble a ball.  Bounce. Smack. Bounce. Repeat.  If sheer will could have forced the ball to submit to his untrained fingers, it would have been easy.  But will isn't enough, no matter what the movies say.
It's not glorious.  In the sport, dribbling is merely the littlest accomplishment.  It doesn't earn you any game points.  But you must start there.
Baby steps.

Tonight, my almost two year old concentrated as he took his halting first turns of little tires.  Older brothers squabbled for a turn to push him, but we had to hold them back.  Let him do it.  Let him feel movement of his own labor.  Alone in the midst of adoring older ladies at a store, he glowed with the accomplishment of moving forward.  A whole tire rotation.  Baby steps.  Baby wheels.

At home, he crashed delightedly into the refrigerator.  What a lovely feeling of power.
It feels like there is a little toddler in my house, for the fourth time.
He will get himself stuck like every toddler (only this time, mostly in the laundry room, because the house slopes that way.)
He'll realize he's tall enough to knock things off shelves, crack his head against the dining room table, empty the contents of mysterious drawers that had always before been just over his head.
He'll get fast enough to steal toys from his brothers and take off.  He'll get stuck on the thresholds, but the brief chase will be glorious.

So today, my baby's learning to wheel.
I am so proud.
Time to toddler proof after all.  And, as a friend said, invest in steel toed boots for the whole family.

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