It started with a chubby baby hand holding fast to a cabinet door. I was in the kitchen, making dinner for the family. I wasn’t watching when that hand let go. I was too focused on dicing. And seasoning. And out of the corner of my eye, just in the periphery of my vision, I saw the honey-blonde top of his head. Rounding the corner from the kitchen to the dining room. And into the living room. He left in his wake a brown and russet colored sock, long removed from his foot. I abandoned the knife and chili powder to peek in and have a little glimpse, expecting him to have moved his grasp onto the cart next to the kitchen doorway. Instead, my heart took a leap into my throat.
Outstretched arms. Lilting back and forth. Chubby feet navigating the floor underneath him. He let go. And he found his footing. Sparkling blue-green eyes. The brightest smile I have ever seen. Pudgy baby toes gripping tufts of carpet as he went.
“He’s WALKING!”, John shouted.
“I know!”, I replied.
I know. He did it. He walked. Not a few steps. But through 2 rooms and part of the third before he noticed our excitement and stopped to clap and cheer with us. Complete with baby giggles. And he lost his balance, plopping to the carpeted floor beneath him on his diapered butt. I was here to see it all. I didn’t miss it in the throes of work and school.
He did it. Finally. He walked. He let go.
Now I wonder if I will be able to?