There’s a moment, just before the RRBB launches himself up and forwards, that he’s not quite convinced that life on two feet as opposed to crawling is all it’s cracked up to be. And then, the instant passes and he’s toddling about, arms flailing, happy as can be, proud, excited, terrified. It’s amazing to watch. There are these things, these milestones, that you know your child will reach. You know he will (or should) eventually walk, talk, smile, roll over, but when they do it, your world stops for a moment because the firsts are something that you want to hold on to as a parent. Grab them, capture them, ensure that they’re burned into your brain for embarrassing stories for when he grows older, and then you forget. You don’t mean to but you do. Your mind gets all filled up with the detritus of everyday life, pebbles of information that you wish would landslide in your brain and come right out your ears (like why and how do I know the lyrics from 80% of the popular songs on the radio but I can’t remember the exact moment the baby first smiled at me?), leaving room for the really important stuff that you probably should have written down anyway.
Regardless, as my aunt says, “they don’t go backwards.” And the RRBB’s an amazing walking and alm0st-talking machine these days. He’s been saying, “What’s that” (“wht’s tat?”) for months, but he’s added “snot” and “good” and “teeth” to his repertoire. And he’s starting to be more “vocal” with his movements. He lifts his leg up and puts his foot on the bathtub to signal when he’s done with his bath. He knocks away a glass or food if it’s not what he wants. He understands so much more — he’ll fetch a particular book if you tell him what to get — and every day we’re getting closer to communication. It’s wonderful to see him grasping things that my RRHB describes as “human.” And then we went to see a wee little beautiful baby girl over the weekend and that glorious, awful, wonderful, terrible infant time came flooding back. She was one month old. Teeny tiny and making alien noises and, as I always do, I wished, for just an instant, that my life was different, that I could have a dozen babies. Not that I’m anything but insanely grateful and pleased to be living the life that I am, but I deeply regret how the disease has defined my life. I know, before you say anything, that it’s not my fault. That there’s little I can do to change being sick or that I need to be grateful for, well, being alive. And we have an amazing, miraculous, intensely incredible little boy that I adore within an inch of my disease-ridden life. Yet, when I see a brand-new baby I can’t help but feel a little sad that we won’t be having any more. But what’s even funnier, is that when we were in the car coming home, my RRHB said, “I’m so happy we’re passed that year.” And I laughed, replied, “And all I was thinking was how much I’d have a dozen more babies.”
However happy we are, however satisfied with our current lives, I’m still disappointed with myself for not preparing emotionally for how hard it’s been coping with the disease over the past 15 months. I’ve never been this sick for this long before, and now that we’re catching every single bug that flows through his daycare, I’m coughing, sniffling, headachy, and exhausted on a minute-by-minute basis. Overwhelmed by work, overwhelmed by sickness, overwhelmed by side effects (the cyclo has cause premature menopause, that’s awesome, not), overwhelmed by feeling overwhelmed, and I just can’t wait for it all to calm down, hope that I can catch a break. But now I’m sounding like the most negative person in the world. Really, the point of that video, of sharing that video, is the pure happiness that it brings. To remember that walking takes time and concentration but it’s a skill that can be mastered, and there’s pure joy in just stepping one foot in front of the other and going. Right?