My son is inflicted with a strange sort of paralysis.
Ian was slow in learning to crawl, partly because he learned to roll so early. Why bruise your knees when you can steamroll across the floor, trampling everything in your path? Now that Ian’s got the hang of it, I can’t turn my back on him for a moment. One second he’s calmly flipping through ‘Olivia’, the next he’s in Dayton, Ohio, comparison shopping for Keds.
Last night, Kelly sat on our couch for Ian’s pre-bedtime meal. Ian was sitting in the doorway, babbling and about to crawl into the living room. As soon as he saw Kelly, pillow in lap, his face crumpled, his bottom lip went all a’tremble, and his legs stopped working.
“Come on, honey.” Kelly held out her arms, and Ian cried harder. He took a few lurching crawls toward her, sat on his feet, lifted his face to the ceiling and wailed.
It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.
The kid can chase our cats around the house on his knees, but when it comes to dinnertime, Caesar must be carried. Stalwart parents that we are, Kelly and I simply sat on the couch and waited. Ian eventually made his way, ever so reluctantly, to the couch – inch by inch, crying all the way. I swear, he was trying to compromise. “See, mommy? I came two more steps. Please?”
With Ian’s first birthday, Kelly and I have been bemoaning the loss of our little baby. I think Ian misses it, too.