One tentative first step yesterday, one that I only barely happened to notice, right after I turned to look at him for no particular reason. One second his hand clung to our bedframe as usual as he made his way across the room in search of mischief or perhaps an errant steak knife, and then he let go and continued to shuffle and wobble forward. Two seconds, tops, and then he dropped back onto his diapered butt and looked up at me in surprise. I shouted downstairs to Jason: Ezra took a step! He just took a step!
And then silently, to myself: I'm so glad I got to see it.
Less than an hour or so later, at a neighbor's open house party, Jason and I watched him take two, three more. We pointed and grinned at each other from across the room, like big fat pantomiming loons, both just overly pleased that we both got to see it that time.
It's hard not to be super uber-cheesy about the first steps. Sure, mobility = giant sucking suckhole of hell and headbruises. And walking = the end of babyhood, the official passage into full-tilt toddlerhood. But it's still such an AWESOME milestone. I remember contemplating the spindly chicken legs and floppy heads and torsos of my newborns and trying to picture them walking. It seemed ridiculous, like there was a better chance that goldfish would spontaneously evolve and crawl out of their bowls on newly sprouted haunches than one of these helpless flailing creature actually walking upright within the span of 12 months or so.
And then before you know it, they're up, and they're off.
But I'm so glad I get to be here to see it.