The baby monkey up and decided to start walking about two weeks ago. He is 14 months old and, by some standards, a little late on the walking thing. We haven’t been worried about it at all, knowing that he’d do it eventually, in his own time.
Living with a baby can be hard (which is something about a million other moms with blogs can tell you about) but it is, of course, also really joyful, really funny and a really good reminder that there is much pleasure to be found in your body.
Babies are sensual creatures (not in brown chicken, brown cow -say it out loud-kind of way)- touching and tasting and exploring the world around them. A walk through our front yard is an epic journey. First there is a few minutes of just walking, Miles delighting in his new found bipedal self. Then there is the stomping of feet, the impromptu Irish step dancing, just to see what it feels like. Then, oh if things are good and Mama has one hand and Dada has the other, there is the 1-2-3 and then the big swing in the air. He flies, head back, eyes squinty with pleasure, mouth wide with silent laughter.
All of this and we haven’t even made it to the half way point of the yard, or stopped to pick up a leaf or to squish the head of a dandelion between our fingers.
We get used to our bodies and used to movement and, for some of us, moving becomes this thing we have to do (to lose weight, or lower cholesterol, or whatever) instead of this thing we get to, are so lucky to do.
I ride the brake a lot when I go down hills on my bike, a little afraid of going too fast, of being out of control, afraid to let my self fly. My son would not approve.