My boy, at just over thirteen months, is so close to walking that it seems tantalisingly out of reach.
He will shuffle along quite competently with the aid of a sofa, cupboard, high-chair, Mommy or Daddy's fingers and whatever else is in reach of his grubby little mitts. He won't quite do it on his own yet. Though it is quite amazing to see him galloping across the floor on all fours. When he gets a desired target in site, there's no stopping him from attaining it, regardless of how many sets of legs are in the way. He could almost give the dog a run for his money and the articulation and coordination in his little hips is a nearly mesmerising display of fluidity.
My wife and I have been using encouragement and, somewhat guiltily, food to lure him away from the reassuring stability of stationary objects. To no avail so far. Last night, with my wife out for the evening, I tried another tactic.
I don't know if it's the testosterone in him, but the little squirt has quite the penchant for electronics. He loves to play with cameras, telephones, remote controls... One afternoon he (inadvertently) fixed my brother's cell phone that had him locked out. Uncanny. He now knows to hold a phone up to his ear by himself in order to hear voices on the other end; just adorable.
While he and I were watching Attack of the Clones on the weekend, I suddenly found myself listening to Obi-Wan Kenobi dictating orders to clone troopers in Spanish. I didn't even know that button was on the remote!
So last night, as I had the original Star Wars on the DVD player, Declan was standing in front the sofa as I was sitting on the floor. I had the remote. He wanted it. I could see the gleam in his eye as the urge suddenly struck him to push buttons and swing it carelessly around. (There is a direct, inverse, relationship between the price of an object and the degree of care he takes in handling it.) So he turned his back to the sofa, leaned against it and reached out with his arms to their furthest extent in a yearning gesture for the object of his fleeting desire.
I held it agonisingly out of reach.
He hunched up his shoulders and leaned his upper body away from the sofa so that his Pampers-swaddled rear was all that was supporting his yet-unconfident frame.
I let it touch his fingertips.
He reached out even further, his bottom leaving the save haven of the sofa, straining for the remote. (His hands were straining, I mean, not his bottom.) I pulled the remote away in a further enticement for him to take a step...
...and he folded down onto the ground where, now on all fours, he marched onto my lap and acquired his prize, having made enough of an effort to earn it. Plus he makes a rather unseemly whine when kept away from his goal for too long.
*sigh*
Maybe next time.
Love the new pic of Declan!!! And, Lo and Behold, you don't get to be the subject of his future therapy on this account.... any other claims, either direct or implied, are invalid. Believe me when I say, no matter what nonsense you put in this boys' head, he may just turn out okay after all. ( Of course, in my VAST experience, I find that children and sea monkeys are quite similiar.) You figure it out... :) Penny
Posted by: Penny | Tuesday, 14 June 2005 at 12:04 AM
Just you wait, Simon. Once he gets up on his feet, you'll never get off of yours. Enjoy the calm before the storm...........Tina
Posted by: Tina | Tuesday, 14 June 2005 at 12:40 AM