He thinks he can. Or not.

The Boy is capable of walking, but too timid and impatient to do it. His impatient Momma wants him to just get on with it.

Instead of walking, he cruises along our furniture and walls, our legs if necessary, and crawls to his push toys and the footstool he shoves around the rooms. He's faster and safer this way. I know once he starts walking -- and then, I suppose, running -- he'll be bruised and battered again from falls on our tile floors. When he started crawling and standing, I lived in daily fear that someone would call CPS on us.

The Boy crawls because it is the most efficient way to his toys. But I want to watch him chase after his daddy. He likes rolling his toys across our tile. I want him to walk so he can move quickly to the daycare's 1-year-old room, for which walking is a prerequisite, after his January birthday. The baby room is getting crowded.

The Boy often stands, teetering on his tiptoes, and ALMOST walks, then, at the last second, changes his mind and drops to his hands and knees. That was me as a kid, choosing not to play sports because I looked stupid when I ran, and then again, as a teenager, fearful of driving and only getting my license when my parents forced me. The Boy is impatient like me, and I see my timidity in him, too. I want him to learn early to be daring, to push past his hesitation and have faith in himself.

Yay Boy! my husband and I cheer every time he strings together a few shaking steps. He grins and falls down from the shock and joy of it. He claps his fat little hands together and I hope he always is so proud of himself.