Dear Asa,
This is it my love, this is THE letter. This is the one in which I tell you that you have joined the world of the up right, the vertical, the walking. Yes my dear, you can walk! And before you were nine months old, amazing. It started with the standing – one day, just before you were six months old, I came in to get you as I heard you wake from your nap, and there you were. Standing in your crib, all by yourself. You had stood with support before this, but never on your own, but there you were. Beaming with pride. Then you started to pull yourself to stand on anything and everything – the couch, the kitchen cupboards, my skirts and even the walls. This rather huge effort was followed by the more refined skill of free standing (which sounds like an awesome new extreme sport). For moments at a time you would let go of whatever it was that you were balancing on, and just stand. Never has something so incredibly dull as standing been so awesomely amazing. To see you just standing there, swaying slightly side to side, adjusting your body to it’s new upright posture, is startling really. Your life thus far has been lived horizontally – laying in my arms, sleeping in your crib, playing on your back, shimmying on your tummy - this is my view of you. And now the world has tilted slightly, or so it seems, because my little baby boy is vertical. And not only that – you have forward motion! At first it was just a couple steps, one awkward foot in front of the other while you held both my hands. Then the steps were more confident. Then you only needed one hand. And then, at about 8 ½ months, you made the leap. With all your bravery you simply let go of my hand and tumbled towards your dad’s waiting arms. This was upright, and propelled forward, but hard to classify as actual walking. It was so out of control, you were just sort of falling forward while in an upright position, but they were steps, to be sure. And then, just four days before Christmas, you really did it. You were standing up, holding on to a chair for support, your dad and I about 5 baby steps away sitting on the floor. With one look of absolute determination you did it, you let go. And then one, slow, steady step at a time, you walked right to us. You did the same thing twice more that day, and about 15 times the next day. Just yesterday you rounded the corner, all on your own. It’s here, this is it. You are walking my love. WALKING!
With this great new ability comes great new risk – for the perils of walking are many. As we both found out just last week. You started at the couch, standing and eying the coffee table as your destination. Not a second later, you were off. One step, then pause to steady. Two steps, another pause. Then the third step, that tumbled into fourth and fifth, sixth and you were almost there…but not quite. You went down, face first, just a half a step away from the table, your goal. But that half a step really made a difference. Instead of grabbing the table and using it to steady yourself, you fell just before it, catching the corner over your left eye. And then the world ended (for a split second anyway). I dove and scooped you up, “You’re ok, you're ok” already pouring over and over from my lips – though I wasn’t sure if I believed it yet myself. The few moments between impact and screaming seemed to stretch on forever as I searched your crumpled face for a gash, a bruise or something worse. The spill ended up leaving a bit of a shiner and a small cut above your eye. You were laughing and playing again within minutes, while I on the other hand shook for an hour. You are tough, my love, to be sure. And it seems that I will need to be tougher if I am to make it through your scrapes and spills with you.
You walk, you fall, you recover and you know what else you do? Clap! It may be the cutest thing in the world right now, and I think you’ve caught on to this. Every time you do it you get a big reaction from your dad and I (even now after 8,346,478 times) and you love this. So now you use it to your advantage. When you head for something off limits, like the toilet or the cat, and you hear me behind you sternly saying “No!” you turn around and face me, then clap. Oh man. You are cheeky, as your father would say.
This month also saw your very first Christmas. It was cold and frosty outside, we were warm an cozy by the fire with your Auntie Mar and Grandma Murray. Though you had many wonderful gifts from friends and family, the wrapping more than anything else intrigued you. That and the ribbon. In fact, we still have boxes of it around just for you to play with. And I may keep them out for a while it seems.
As I type this you are walking the ten or so paces from the kitchen into the dining room where I sit. Your big, somewhat goofy grin spreads across your face, punctuated by four tiny teeth and animated by your grunting laugh. You laugh and smile as you slowly, awkwardly walk tome. You turn the corner now, concentrating hard on that right turn….and plop! You are down on your butt, and still happy as can be. Busting with pride and spilling over with happiness, you scramble back up to your feet, ready for another go. And you know what? So am I. Lets go play!
Love,
Mom.
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