She stands up and curls her toes into the hardwood floor. Steady. She bounces her diaper-clad bottom. Three half squats. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. She laughs and plops to the ground.
She's on the edge. Ready to walk. Practicing. Testing her limits. Taking her time. And when the time is right, she'll step. And then, she'll step again.
Into her world.
I don't have a bunch of preconceived ideas about who my children will grow up to be. But after having two boys, there's something different about having a daughter. I feel like God did her a favor by letting her come last. Giving me time to test my own limits, take my own time, and step out into my own world. I'm better equipped. I understand.
At night, before I put her in the crib, sometimes I whisper to her in the dark. Wherever you go, I have your back.
And sometimes, I sit on the floor and take photos of her feet. I hold out my hand, in case she needs to relocate her center of gravity. Sometimes she reaches out. And sometimes, she doesn't need to.
She's already standing on her own.