Sofia and I were heading downstairs after having spent a good half hour or so playing with her Fischer Price doll house in her room, when I attempted to hold her hand as she went down the stairs. Now she hasn’t needed any help on the stairs since she was one and a half, but you know she’s right there with me, so my instinct is to reach out and hold her hand.
“I don’t need to you hold my hand, mama. I’ll just hold onto the wall,” she says as her right hand brushes the undersides of the framed photos on the stairwell wall, tipping them all a bit askew as she goes.
“That’s okay. I know you don’t need help. I just wanted to hold your hand,” I explain.
“See how I walk down the steps, mommy? I just take steps and go, ‘walk, walk, walk’. See? it’s easy for me!” She smiles up at me.
“Okay, Sofi. I see how you do it. You don’t need any help.” We get to the bottom of the stairs and she pauses, lifting one knee especially high, then looking at me.
“Now, see how I walk on the floor? I just take some more steps and go, ‘walk… walk… walk’. (As she takes super-sized, John Cleese “ministry of silly walks” type steps). See how easy that is, mommy?”
“Yes, you’ve made your point.”
And in her best Dustin Hoffman, “I’m a very good walker.”
Lord help me when she turns 12.
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