One Small Step & One Giant Leap

Just put one foot in front of the other.

I’m not sure we give feet enough credit. They very literally support our entire bodyweight, psyche and general existence each and every day, often times for the majority of 24 hours. We take those ten toes (give or take), two soles and all those temporary blisters for granted, never thinking of the infinite cycles of standing, balancing, walking and tippy-toeing for that last can of enchilada sauce. Sure, there’s the occasional stubbed toe (no amount of expletives can heal that pain) and the embarrassing stink every so often, but it’s a fair trade given the workload.

This is all going through my head as I watch my daughter take her first steps.

It’s truly an unbelievable feat (feet?) and the moment unfolding in front of you is nothing short of magical. It’s exhilarating, scary and hilarious. As a parent, each nanosecond is filled with dreading the coffee table corner, laughter as they stumble around like last call in college, and the awe-inspiring realization that this human is evolving. None of us remember when, how, where and certainly why we started walking—we just did. But from the outside perspective, it’s etched in your brain as a parent.

Each one of my three daughters was different. Different ages, different locations, different style. One was to mom, one was to music and the most recent was pure FOMO. “This crawling thing sucks, and I want to reach stuff like my sisters,” Navy said as she wobbled left and right like a dizzy bat contestant. She stands, she falls, she trips on the dog. She repeats. The level of determination is inspiring, making me rue my surrender to every possible home project I now ignore. Even when she feels pain or gets frustrated, there’s a sense of resolve and tenacity that fills you with pride. My kid walking! (As if literally billions of people had never done it before.)

And then just like that, walking becomes the norm. It’s like those muscles just magically developed overnight, leaving the crawling method in the dust. She started carrying things while walking, akin to a high school band leader marching in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It probably helps with balance, but you should see her with a stolen hand towel patrolling the kitchen. Last week you were a quadruped, and now you’re a full-on star!

I also realize this moment is another milestone signaling the end of babyhood. For nearly a year, my wife and I savored every second of this chapter—confident the third time through and understanding that it’s the last ride. (See “The Big Snip”.) We didn’t sweat the small stuff, we let shit go, and maybe we were just too damn tired. I’m sure being a parent has mind-numbing challenges at every phase of a kid’s life, but babies are different. They are attached to you for most of your waking hours, and that closeness with another human is a next-level dopamine hit we only get to experience a few times in our lives. Until they discover true independence—the first steps.

She looks back every few feet, just to make sure we’re around. And I’m sure she’ll do the same, in one way or another, for a long time. But she’s ready now, off to find trouble, lead parades and keep discovering life.

Let’s hear it for feet.