One Small Step for Man

For the past few weeks, Joe has been teetering - literally - on the edge of walking.  He had progressed from making his way around the room by holding onto a chair, a table leg, the wall, my leg, etc., to taking a few, unsteady steps on his own.  Then, as Jude and I sat across from each other in the den, he began taking a few steps, walking from one of us to the other and back again.  For the most part, it was the drunken sailor walk, hands extended over his head, reeling from side to side, very unsteady on his feet.  You know, like a drunken sailor!

Last weekend, though, Joe really turned the corner.  It's like, almost overnight, a light bulb went off and all of a sudden he has balance when he walks.  He holds his hands lower and doesn't reel from side to side.  Occasionally, he leans backward and plops down on his butt when he loses his balance.  For the most part, he walks wherever he wants to go.  Amazingly, Joe can walk while carrying something in one of his hands.

As milestones go, of course, learning to walk is a giant one.  It's a game changer for Jude, J.P. and me, as there's no limit to what Joe can get into now.  One minute he's right beside me and, if I turn away for a second, he's off to the races.  It's more than a little scary, actually.  He tries to follow J.P. and, when he catches him, gives him a hug.  That's pretty cool, except that when he hugs J.P., he usually loses his balance and falls.

In many ways, it's like watching a tightrope walker at the circus, as Joe walks across our hardwood floors, starting and stopping, and occasionally stumbling.  I live in a constant state of fear that he's going to fall and hit his head on the floor.  I'm happy he's walking and, yet, things were so much easier when he was crawling.

The larger issue for me, really, is that I'm not sure I'm ready for Joe to be walking.  It's a recurring theme that runs throughout this blog, I know.  It's probably a character flaw of some sort or a personality disorder at least, but I can't help it.  My son is growing up and it makes me feel helpless, in a way, because there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop the passage of time.  It seems worse, too, with Joe than it was with J.P., in the sense that time seems to be passing more quickly.  Everything seems to happening faster.

I suspect it's because I'm so busy - with work, with J.P. and Joe, with family stuff - but Joe's first year seems to have passed so much more quickly than did J.P.'s.  I'm older, too.  Also, I've already been through these milestones with J.P., so maybe because it's not all brand new to me, time passes more quickly, from milestone to milestone.

I try to avoid it, but sometimes, especially late at night when I'm in bed trying to fall asleep, I start going the math in my head - how old I am now, how old I'll be when Joe starts high school, when he graduates from high school.  When I do the math, I start to worry about how I'm going to be able to handle a high school freshman when I'm 59 years old.  Will I be physically up to the task?  Will Joe be able to relate to me and me to him?  Will I be healthy enough to keep up with him?  Will he be embarrassed to have his friends meet me because I'll be as old as some of their grandfathers? (that one hurts, actually).  The nights when I do the math are the nights when I don't sleep well.  

Man plans and God laughs, I suppose.  I'm thankful beyond measure for my sons.  They're healthy, intelligent, normal boys.  J.P. and Joe are more than I could have asked for and they're more than I deserve.

Joe is walking.  Damn.