July 7

I posted this on the Bug's blog the day I watched him try to walk for the first time. I thought I'd share it here.

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Today I watched him learn to walk.

I have never been a witness to such an amazing moment.

I literally, watched someone learn to walk.

He pulled himself up, and then stood. He took his hands off my knees for a few seconds, and realized he could do it. He wobbled a bit, but looked at me with this realization followed by a huge drooly grin. It was amazing. He started to walk around the sectional couch, all the while looking at me in disbelief.

Really? This is how you do this?

He was so excited he just couldn't stop. He wanted to walk and walk and walk all night. He would have, I'm sure, if I would have let him.

Every day this summer I am overwhelmed by this sense of amazement and gratitude that I am here to watch this. That I helped to make this person, who is a part of me. That my heart is now walking around outside my body permanently. I have never felt so vulnerable and loving and loved before. So I put him in his sleepsack, took him upstairs, turned on his U2 lullabies, and rocked him to sleep. He usually tosses and turns a bit, but didn't fight it tonight. He had a long day of swimming, and giggling, and now walking. I think he knew, as did I, that this is a whole new world now. He needed his rest, so he could do it all again tomorrow.

So he could go even farther.

I hope he never stops feeling that amazement--when your body surprises you, when you realize you had it in you all along, and when you feel like you really, truly can do anything. Too many people lose that wonder.

He gazed at me, heavy-eyed, as he always does when I rock him to sleep. I nuzzled him, felt his breath on my cheek, and watched his eyes look at mine just before he dozed off, just to be sure I was there, and it was okay to let go to the heavy feeling of slumber. And I stared at him, so hard as if I was taking a picture in my eyes, because I know that I'm going to blink and he'll be five, eight, twenty years old. And nights like these will be just a memory, like his breath on my cheek and the sigh he let go as I lay him to sleep.