In a dramatic turn of events, Son #2 recently decided to operate in a bi-pedal fashion under his own power. For those of you following the developmental saga of Son #2, it’s no surprise that he’s always been behind the power curve and operating to some unknown schedule of growth. Whether it was breast feeding and switching to hamburgers, skipping children’s books in lieu of video games, his one-day lead on his due date, or this whole mobility sham, Son #2 does things his way. In the matter of 48 hours, Son #2 went from needing adult assistance to navigate from room to room in an upright position, to bracing himself against a wall or solid object to traverse the periphery of a room, to pushing off and waddling like a drunk old lady from room to room wailing with laughter and pride along the way. Let’s set the stage:

My wife left on a mission to sell direct sales items to other culinary-obsessed female customers. That left me alone and unsupervised with our two kids. Son #1, all he wanted to do was play Lego Indiana Jones while his mother was away. Son #2, he’s merely looking for an open door or gate to escape through when no one is looking. After we escorted their mother to the door and saw her on her way, we turned back to walk to the living room. And then it happened, with the largest unescorted distance to that point, Son #2 pushed off the wall and followed us into the living room. He walked past Son #1 and I and directly to the bin which holds the Wiimotes. Video games = valuable incentives at any age.


What makes this story all the more interesting was the fact that Son #2 recognized that Son #1 and I were going to fire up the Wii for a little mind numbing entertainment. He took it upon himself to let his maiden voyage greater than two or three steps to be across our dining room, around the corner, and into the living room walking over to the Wii accessories. I feel honored that my laziness and addictions inspired my youngest son in to mobile freedom. Maybe I shouldn’t have set such a high level of expectation.

The magnitude of the moment was definitely not lost on Son #2. He shrieked the entire way. Of course, Son #1 and I were literally shitting ourselves we were so happy with the outcome. Our antics, lack of volume control, and hysteria only continued to feed Son #2 and the blood curdling yelps of pride and satisfaction. Despite the inability to hear for a short term after the event, I couldn’t be any more proud of that little guy. We joke about his development or lack thereof, but he took a large step (pun intended) away from being our baby and toward becoming our little boy.

In the following days, he’s become more confident in his drunk-like meandering through the house. Now he picks objects up and relocates them in other rooms. Are DVD's missing? Check under the couch. Where’s the TV remote? Check the cupboard. In the instance of bi-pedal freedom, he changed. Now I look at him and I don’t see the little baby, a diaper bag, and a stroller. I see a little boy full of trouble and joy. I see a little boy on the verge of having his own dreams. I see a little boy becoming a man. All of this is premature because he still craps himself, can’t walk for more than 30 feet, and requires an arsenal of snacks and supplies to leave the house. But I’m starting to see the future for him and I’m starting to worry, just as I did for Son #1.


Now it’s not a question of growing up or developing on the average percentile for growth. It’s about growing up too quickly and putting this small minutia of development far in the rear view mirror too soon and watching as he moves away to college and dates trashy girls. Feeling now like my life is on fast forward, all I can do is watch and try to take in everything, write down thoughts, capture that emotion in a bottle, and remember everything just the way it is right now before it’s gone. This is the last time I’ll see my youngest son walk for the first time. Ever. And that makes me sad. But it makes me hopeful for the next big thing in his life.

For the first time in both of my sons’ lives, I’m afraid for them to grow up. Some of it’s the obvious; the apples didn’t fall far enough from the tree. But the remainder of it is that my days of protecting and providing are now running against the sands of time. I’ll always be their dad, but there are a finite number of days until they are on their own and don’t need me to intervene when they fall or wrestle the Wiimotes from them. I wanted Son #1 to grow up to me my best friend and wanted Son #2 to always be my little baby. Now, I just don’t want to lose them or lose the emotional satisfaction that seeing their accomplishments deliver.