One late afternoon in October, the sunlight was just right, and a few dust motes swirled like the air had been stirred with a spoon. My little love had been rocking back and forth, back and forth, up on his knees for several weeks. I just knew he was about to take off. Camera in hand, I crouched down, seeing the world from his perspective. He began the timid reaching of hands locked on stiff arms, toes touching, knees shifting, eyes focusing. Reaching for his lost shoe, he crawled several feet forward, then happily sat and chewed on his prize. He was so proud of himself.
What an exciting new skill! And I cheered and laughed and hugged him tight. Celebrating his first real taste of independence while ignoring the tiny prick in my heart. And reflected once again on these amazing bodies given by divine design. And on all the wonders of the world contained in our little home- which seems so big to one so small. My boy could move. The vast expanse of the living room floor lay ahead of him, like the rest of his life.
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