Walk Watch

The first thing people ask when I tell them how old Elijah is, besides, “Lord, I hope he looks like his mother,” is, “Is he walking yet?”

I’m not as concerned with the walking. I got really amped up over him crawling. I viewed that as a must in his baby development. And, quite frankly, I got a little pushy with him to the point of manually moving his arms and legs around when all he wanted to do was take a nap.

As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t ever have to walk. He gets around fine on all fours. Better than fine. Who needs two feet, anyway? Now, I will admit crawling may hurt his dating prospects as an adult. And he probably won’t be able to pitch for the White Sox. Marathons are out. And he’ll have to get used to getting kicked in the face at the bus stop.

Well, despite my lack of pressure on walking, he’s about three minutes away from doing it. He’s got the standing thing down. I’ll walk into a room and he’ll be standing without holding onto anything and he’ll look at me like, “Oh yeah, this? It’s called balance. Look it up.”

He also loves walking if his mother holds his hands. He doesn’t quite love it when I do it. Maybe because I scream, “You’re walking!”

Marianna thinks he’ll be walking by the time she baby-sits again on Wednesday. “Oh yes. My little angel walk berry soon…” Yoda+nun=Marianna.

I hope he does his first steps while I’m around. Which is about 35 minutes in any given week. But no pressure. Seriously. I mean it.

p.s. If you think I save my abuse for only my son, I present photo #2.