It’s in her nature to comply. Downy eyebrows widen with a furrowing of forehead, as she listens to an inner voice--push with your toes.
Plop! She’s down. Undaunted, she postures to try again. Julie will crawl.
Arching her back, she push-pushes pudgy feet to work an unseen treadmill, wiry arms outstretched to balance 14-pounds of body weight. She knows she will do it.
Not this time, though. Down she goes again, skidding forward onto nose and chin. The shock brings fleeting tears. But her eyes deepen to a darker blue as she struggles for control. Julie will crawl. It’s her nature to succeed.
And she’s up again, frustrated when a corner pushes back against her efforts to move forward. For a moment she rests.
I could help her. The thought goes through my mind--sit beside her lotus style. Synchronize those little hands and feet. No, Julie will not have it. She rolls to her back for a tickle and giggles before returning to her solo act.
“Roll the ball out there, Mommy, but let me fetch it myself,” I imagine her saying. Like a shell-bound chick, she must go through barriers to mobility alone, or not go at all.
This time she scoots to her target quickly. On her belly. Perhaps she’ll be an Olympic swimmer some day?
Wait! Her back is up again, and coordinated hands are working in opposition to dimpled knees. One hand forward, and then a leg….
 |
| Julie |
