When I made an offer on this house, I wrote to the owners and said, "I can see my son taking his first steps here."

Yesterday Lane waddled across the entire lawn and around the entire house without holding onto anything.  His chest was pushed forward, his body finding equilibrium in this strange snake-y way.  I watched his human spine and all of his muscles that have been building in preparation for this.

As a species, we've been doing this forever, but it's my first time observing it...how we move from four legs to two in a constant shifting to find balance.  I thought about it hard the other day as I stood beside him.  I have 27 good years under my belt of standing on my feet and legs, and half of that time I was a dancer where balance was a learned and practiced art.  Now I stand stable without wavering, but underneath my skin is still a constant shifting.  Standing and walking is all of Lane's shakiness in minuscule muscular form, all of the time.

Before his bath, all naked and hyper, he waddled around in circles and his legs were so skinny.  He doesn't have the baby fat that I see on others his age.  He's lean, but his legs are just straight-up skinny.  It was like watching a plum on two sticks.  A juicy plum.  A plum with overflowing amounts of cute-juice.

I couldn't sleep last night.  Part of it is that I'm sick and can't breathe lying down, but another part is my anxiety about this next phase to come, and a surprising amount of sadness about it too.  I saw it in his face yesterday when he was at first so proud of himself and then so curious.  He's willful, and once there isn't a barrier holding him back, I'm not sure I'll know what to do with him.

Yet another part is that I'm scared. Just six months ago this baby couldn't even crawl.  

 Time has felt like it was standing still for so long.  I would wake up in the morning and barrel through the day, hanging on for dear life as it unfolded.

A day at a time, a day at a time.

All of those days have been piling on top of each other behind my back and we are suddenly at the top of them.  My hands are free almost all day, we are only breastfeeding once in the mornings (barely), and my kid is taking off on two feet through the grass, a look of complete pride on his face.  There isn't any stopping it.

"They" always say things.  "They" told me how I would miss being pregnant.  "They" told me I'd forget how small a baby could be.  "They" told me how becoming a mother would change my perspective of the world.  "They" told me they grow up so fast.  They have been here before, where I'm standing, watching their tiny helpless newborn launch their bodies forward.   And even without words, their knowledge is in me about this, all the way back to human origin, working our way up to vertical, wobbling until we could run.

Lane, go baby.  Don't be deterred by your momma's tears.  They are both fearful and joyful.  They are steeped in pride.  


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