The dink took his first steps a few days ago. Three tiny, one-inch, consecutive forward movements toward something...not me, but something that gets him going in the kitchen like a beater from the electric mixer, or the open door of the dishwasher. He seemed proud, but not totally committed, like he did it without really trying too hard, propelled by the weight of green beans, pasta, rotisserie chicken, and half a can of pears in his near-bursting tummy. If only the dink attacked all of his physical milestones with the gusto that he eats his dinner!
I actually like the way he takes his time. Completely unconcerned with the other "walkers" in his daycare class, biding his time on his butt, perfecting the one-legged, one-handed scoot, which is used when he wants to get somewhere relatively fast but needs to protect a particular item held in one of his hands. He seems just concerned enough with people around him to try to mimic the fun things they do (pointing the remote at the tv, pressing the pin code pad at the grocery store), but then unconcerned enough to tell people no sometimes when they want him to perform on demand (high fives, bye-bye waves, blowing kisses). And certainly undisturbed by the fact that he's had the physical agility to walk for months...because he likes where he is, on the floor, tugging at my pant legs, sliding easily on the terrazzo in our kitchen. And I guess he's teaching me something about taking life slowly, waiting until you're ready, not putting undue pressure on yourself...I think I get it now, what they mean when they say "baby steps."