Walking

Well, it happened. The moment I have both been eagerly anticipating and absolutely dreading for the past 12 months.

My son took his first steps.

He has been "cruising" for a good three months now. The route was always the same: around the coffee table, to the side of the couch, to the end table, across his sister (much to her dislike), to his walker, and back. But last week he let go of the table and there is was: three wobbly steps to me.

I wish I could say that he made it to me.

He went crashing down at step three, slamming his little chin into my knee. I bent down, prepared to soothe and cuddle, but before I could, he grunted and screwed his face up, determined. He pulled himself up on my leg, turned around, and took four steps to his dad.

He made it.

Since then, he's slowly been increasing... Five. Six. Seven steps.

I'll admit, he looks like a drunken sailor. He staggers. He takes two steps forward and one step back. He falls down and giggles.

I've wanted him to walk. I swear I have. I've wanted to see him take his steps, to gain his independence. But now that he is actually doing it, I want to scoop him up and carry him around on my hip for the rest of his life. I want him to be my little guy. I don't want him to walk away from me.

I came to this realization today, when I went to pick him up from daycare. He grinned, bounced up and down, and clapped to see me, like he always does. But when I bent down to scoop him up, he pulled himself up, took my hand, and took some tentative steps to the door. It was slow going. He stopped and rested twice. But he walked from his classroom to the car.

As I walked out of daycare today, holding my daughter's hand in my left and my son's hand in my right, I realized that I have children. I didn't have a baby on my hip, I had toddlers by the hand. And it made me want to cry and smile at the same time.

I think I will absolutely lose it when they no longer want to hold my hand.