Yesterday marked the beginning of the kiddo pulling himself into a standing position. Before, it was just to the knees. Now it’s standing and wobbling. A lot of wobbling.
It’s funny, actually. He’ll crawl over to the couch, end table, or even his playpen, and pull himself up. And he’ll stand there for a bit, babbling and looking for things to grab or knock over.
But today. Today the shrieking started. He gets in that upright position and then has absolutely no idea what to do. He wants out of it, you can tell. Yet he doesn’t want to fall on his bum (even though he has, and it was fine). A couple of times I have pulled him away to sit him down on the floor. It isn’t terribly long before he’s in the same position. That’s okay. I know he’s learning to balance better. Another time I tried to get him to move sideways while holding on, so he could scoot over to me. He mostly just lifted his feet and put them down again. But once I grabbed his hands, he walked/wobbled his way over to me.
It won’t be long. This kid may be walking by his birthday. Christmas at the very latest. It’s all coming at us so fast. All of the changes. The milestones. The learning. I can barely keep up. And if I don’t write it down I’ll never remember. I’ve already forgotten when he exactly first smiled, or giggled. In some ways, it’s not important. Yet in others, for the writer and compulsive documenter in me, it’s extremely important.
I feel compelled to leave records. I don’t know why. I guess I want someone down the road to know us, to know what we were like. My grandchildren. Great-grandchildren. I want them to see us as more than just pictures on somebody’s hard drive or photos printed out and stuck in an album. I want the Boobah to have our memories of what it was like when he was a baby. Maybe he won’t care. But if he does, I want it to be there.
It’s funny, that as a parent I’m much more interested in what mothering was like for my mom. I always wanted to hear what it was like for her before she got married. Who she was, what she did, what she liked. But I never thought to ask her what it was like to be a new mom. I never knew that it took her quite a while to get pregnant with both of us, hence the difference in our ages. She had my granny and a host of sisters-in-law, all of whom had many kids (granny – 9 living, and many of her kids had an average of 5 or more kids) and could tell her about handling a baby. It’s been well over 30 years for her, so I relied more on a bevy of girlfriends, all around the same age, having babies within a year or two of each other.
Our lives are different, yet the same. Being a mom has brought me so much closer to my parents. I hope our kiddo is able to experience the same thing.
But one step at a time. First, he’s got to learn to walk on his own. And it won’t be long…