Asthon walks

Bill Cosby used to do this joke about fathers and mothers. Fathers, he would say, spend all their time teaching their sons to play "ball". They work countless hours coaching fundamentals, going to practices, and cheering at games. This they do throughout their son's childhood so the boys can go on to play "professional ball" one day. Then (dramatic pause here) that day comes. The father sits proudly in the stands cheering his boy on with every bit and particle of his soul. At the end of the game they want an interview with his boy, his son. The cameras position themselves, the interviewer stands poised, his son looks into the camera, smiles, waves and says, "Hi mom!" Now, Mr. Cosby's version was much funnier than mine. My intention was not to be funny but to make a point.
It does not just happen to fathers.

Ashton is an average size boy. He has always been about 50th percentile for all those measurements that matter - height, weight, head circumference. But as the mother of very skinny girls - weight challenged to be politically correct - he is huge. enormous. gigantic. A big ball of baby weight that I have to lug around all the daylong. So, I made it my goal to teach him to walk. My goal, not his. The thought behind this was as follows; I didn't work at all with the girls. I figured they would walk when they were ready. But, if I had worked, I mean really worked, surely they would have walked sooner. Surely this was true. So I worked with Ashton. I let him walk holding my finger. He did great. I removed the finger. He sat down. I walked with him holding one end of a toy (or towel or washcloth or whatever) and I would hold the other end. He did great. I let go. He sat down. I have a friend who had a daughter a week before I had Ashton. Her little girl (and I stress the word LITTLE) walked at 9 months. She was barely 9 months. My behemoth? Not interested. 10 months came. Nothing. 11 months. This was it I thought. Nothing. Until one day, I had been out doing some errands and Brock's parents were watching the kids.

"Ashton walked from the chair to the couch." Bobby told me. "Oh", I said. "Really? Let's see if he'll walk for me?" I stood him up. Nothing. Hmmm, I thought. Maybe they are exaggerating a bit. Maybe he fell from the couch to the chair. - Now, in the interest of full disclosure my couch and my chair are not really close enough for a baby to fall from one to the other but the idea made me feel better. - I am sure I didn't miss much.

The next day dawned bright and beautiful. I left the kids with grandma and grandpa again and went to finish some of the errands I wasn't able to accomplish the day before. When I got home Bobby began to wax poetic about how Ashton had walked back and forth, back and forth from the chair to the couch all day long with nary a care in the world. Well, this is ridiculous I thought. I want to see. So I stood Ashton in front of me and tried with all my mommy might to get him to walk to me. He sat. I stood him up again and urged, cajoled, praised, and made an utter fool of myself. He sat. I stood him up. He sat. Stand. Sit. Stand. Sit. Nothing. Days went by. Nothing. Brock's parents left and more days went by. Nothing.

And then it did happen. I was cooking in the kitchen with Ashton at my feet. He got up and walked across the kitchen. The whole kitchen and my kitchen is not small. I just stopped and looked at him. This was not the stumbling, bumbling one step here a couple steps there, totter of a beginner but the drunken sailor walk of an intermediate toddler. I knew he could do it, he just.......didn't. And then, as if that were not enough, he got back up on his feet and walked, WALKED(!), out of the room.

Well, despite my obvious irritation over the matter I am glad the boy is now walking. So, to celebrate here is some video of his first steps. Enjoy.



P.S. Look at the area around Ashton. When I say he walked out of the room what I mean I mean is, he walked out of the kitchen, through the dining area, turned a corner, walked down the hall, and out of the room.