I am proud of his walking and so excited by his discovery and so amazingly overwhelmed by his healthy, strong body.
I am also the mama of a 10 year old, not to mention an 8 and 6 year old, so I know how this is going to go down. This mach-speed passage of time. This blink and ten years passes. This yearning to go back and this excitement at what's to come.
My mind is constantly flashing back to itty bitty squishy Asher learning to roll over. Sweet chunky monkey Asher doing plank, then rocking on all fours as he learned to crawl. Brave strong Asher cruising along the couch. Curious Asher grasping so very tightly to my fingers as he took a tentative step.
Now sometimes he lets go of my finger.
Which doesn't make any sense until it makes perfect sense.
Like so many other moments in my life as a mama, I want time to freeze. I want to press stop and live forever in this time where I have a baby boy who delights in bathtub splashes and mama forehead kisses and peek-a-boo with siblings.
But I can't. And darnit if that doesn't just break my heart sometimes. So I do what mamas do. I hug him and whoop and celebrate his discoveries as he toddles to me with his arms stretched wide, ready for the fall, and a smile as bright as the sun and it's love. It's so much love.
I catch him when he falls. Then I help him back up so he can do it again. Even when I want to just hold him there.
When he drops down to crawl, I watch him intently, soaking it up, memorizing the wiggling bottom and quick arms, the way he holds one leg straight out, like a pointer dog, when he's looking for something.
All I can do is watch and wonder at what adventure he has planned for us next.
It's love. It's so much love. Sad, happy love. You know the kind.