he’s like a blur, friends and neighbours…a flitting thing, a bee or fly or hummingbird. my boy cannot be still.

i put him one place and find him in another. i walk across the room…he’s there, beaming up at me. an unidentified object falls to the floor…small hands swoop over and eat it up before i can even classify it as cheerio, pen cap, or cat litter pellet. Oscar is fully and truly on the move. and the tools at his disposal for this little hobby seem to be legion, and growing everyday.

he’s mastered crawling - or dragging, rather, since he seems to enjoy pulling himself around the floor with his arms, legs trailing behind like little flippers. i figure he’ll have great pecs and arms if he keeps this up, so i encourage it…there’s no harm in being stacked in kindergarten, is there? i’ve been so impressed by his efficiency with the drag that i’ve tried it myself, actually…but the poor twig-like appendages attached to my upper body don’t take me very far for all the panting involved. plus, Oscar looked at me funny when i was down on the floor humping away…apparently it’s a more dignified means of locomotion for those who aren’t dragging a hundred and plenty pounds or so behind them.

now he’s starting to get upright any chance he gets. oooh! a pantleg to hang on to? a plant pot to pull oneself up on? a teetering, delicate antique bookstand at Nannie’s house? O’s there, using those meaty baby biceps (and his teeth, all eight of them, fiercely clamped) to drag himself upward onto tottering feet. he goes down? he claws his way back up. he is fierce, my baby boy. he wants to touch everything, taste everything, see everything, and single-handedly cover every square inch of our house with his drool, right now.

it is marvellous to watch, and terrifying. he’s loving it…the independence, the accomplishment, the view from two feet up. his glee and his pride at being mobile and upright are beautiful to see, and make me proud of him, of his efforts, of the sheer force of his little will. but oh my god. he’s everywhere. and he’s not even walking yet.

sweet merciful crap, it’s wondrous scary, this growing up stuff. i wonder if the metal tang of fear i keep trying to choke down at the back of my throat will fade when he finally drives away from our house some eighteen or twenty years from now? probably not.

here he goes. gotta go try to catch up.