Triumph

In the day-to-day grind of child-rearing, it’s easy to lose sight of the magic of our kids. I mean, between the whining and the fighting and whining while fighting and crayon-on-the-wall and weird rashes and OH LORD WHO’S CLEANING THAT MESS UP, I forget the magic. Magic: Poof. Gone.

But then, just when I need it the most, comes a moment.

This time, the magic came from Baby Emile. Although, can I even call him a baby anymore? I guess he’ll always be our baby (Please, Lord, no more ninja baby surprises,  kthxbye), but the child is now a year old and heavy enough to herniate your lumbar spine in like 2 seconds flat , so more of a Giant Baby, King of All Smaller Babies. My parents, who watch him often, now have his and her back braces and heating pads to recover from a babysitting session with him.

Well, today, we were playing on the floor and Emile pulled up to standing at the edge of the couch as he loves to do. But, this time, he turned and took several steps by himself.  All by himself.  Both arms went straight up. Thighs gorilla-crushed the carpeted landscape – right –left –right – left. And the look on his face? Pure triumph.  We’re talking Delight with a Capital D.

Back on the ground in a momentary recover, he threw his head back and roared happily. He scampered back up again and wobbled forth. Arms up. Teeter Totter. Triumph!  Over and over again I watched him in his cycle of new-walker-glory.

And for me, it was like witnessing rays of light emanating from a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. This moment was magic. I could hardly believe I was so lucky to just sit here and be with him during this most fabulous time of his life to date.

Somehow, I just didn’t remember the other kids’ first steps being like this. Maybe it’s because he’s the last (Please, Lord, he’s last, right?) but it was a moment I want to re-play over and over and over.

Child triumph heals all parenting wounds.