Harley has started walking. It actually happened a while ago. When we were in Cape Town, she’d take a couple baby steps (toddler steps?) on her own before coasting or screaming for us to give her a hand. Now, she pretty much can walk on her own although she still prefers a hand, and she doesn’t seem to like thresholds, preferring to be carried over them like a cliched bride. Walking with her is adorable, and I try to do it as often as possible – we walk to and from the car when I drop her off at school or pick her up. I figure the more she walks (even holding my hand) the stronger those muscles will get and the more confident she will be on her own two feet.
While it is incredibly cute and an important milestone, she walks really, really slowly. It can take an extra few minutes just to get to the car, or to walk to the school building. While I sometimes feel like carrying her to speed up the process (and sometimes I need to when we’re running late), I try to resist the urge as much as possible. She is so excited to be able to walk, and I’m so happy for her. Plus, it’s really important that she gets all the opportunities to practice her walking, running and whatever else. But it’s slow and means that I have to have a lot of patience. And those baby steps and their required patience remind me a lot of other aspects of my life that require patience.