As my toddler practices toddling, I’m finding myself in the precarious position of hoping he learns to walk soon, all the while knowing I’ll only end up chasing him down later anyway. Over the last two weeks, my little monkey has wobbled through the house and yard as I bend over him, holding his hands, my lower back protesting and dreaming of Ben Gay. My home looks like a tidal wave has washed through it, as I can do nothing but hold the wiggly hands of a little one trying to take those first victorious steps.
I’ve mentioned the sleep schedule is completely out the window. I find myself lying on his bedroom floor at all hours, using his Boppy for a pillow. (Not bad, but alas, the back continues to weep.) Setting my son in the play yard makes him whine. Setting him in the high chair makes him shriek. (Imagine Steve Tyler with his hand in a vice grip.) Setting him down, with any other purpose but to practice the walk, is futile.
So I improvise. I’m a busy girl. Certain things have had to slip by the wayside, but I’d at least like a path through my house. Hence, I’ve put my son to work. With my assistance, he walks his dirty bibs to his hamper, takes glasses back to the kitchen, and throws away all those silly subscription papers that fall out of magazines. We put away toys, pick little thingies out of the carpet as we pass, and stop to pet the doggies. I pretty much just walk the little guy to wherever I have to go. I’m not insane – I know the ironing just has to wait and that dinner will become a painfully simple affair for awhile. But at least I keep the clutter to a level I can tolerate. And my son is hopefully learning some cleaning skills in the meantime. Because let me tell you, once he starts walking, I’m going to need some serious help around here.