Skip to main content

Behold! The Zombie Walk!



For a few weeks now, Willow has been like a baby bird airing out its wings, getting ready for that big leap from the nest.
Willow has been letting go, in other words, releasing her white-knuckled grasp of furniture and parents and stepping out into the void, the wide open spaces of the living room floor.
When she started this three weeks ago, I don't think she knew what she was doing. The first time I spotted her, she let go of my legs and walked about three feet to a nearby ottoman. Moments later, she walked from the ottoman out into the middle of the living room before falling to the floor; that was about four feet of walking.
As any good parent would, I grabbed a phone to record her breakthrough in walking, and as any good kid would, she stopped doing whatever was camera-worthy.
No matter. I got onto the tallest mountain and announced that Willow was walking.
But she didn't do it again, and I had no video evidence. Sure, she stumbled here and lunged there, and she crept around furniture and she tumbled from this chair to that chair. But there was no more walking. My theory is she started realizing she was walking, and that became very scary for her, but what do I know, maybe she just wanted Daddy to look stupid.
But about a week ago, she started it up again, but using much more care, holding those pudgy arms out like a balance stick and tiptoeing one step at a time, first going one foot, then two feet then three feet. The whole act still felt like stumbling and bumbling, so Mommy and I didn't pay much heed to it.
Then just a few days ago, it started looking like very unpolished and unsure walking, usually ending in a solid whomping fall onto the buttocks. My friend Rob calls such antics "The Zombie Walk."
On Monday, I spied Willow starting her Zombie Walk experiments, so I got my phone out and prepared to record. And right on cue, Willow performed the Zombie Walk of the ages, and I have video evidence; just watch the video above!
I'm counting this, April 16, 2012, as the day Willow started walking, and you can't stop me.
I have proof.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

With baby comes packing (and a lot of it)

Willow, Che and I are traveling to see the grandparents, aunts, cousins and Mos (or is it Moes or is it Mo's or is it Moses?) in Henderson, Tenn., this weekend. And that brings up one of the big differences between being a couple without kids and being a couple with kids: packing for travel (they even have an app for that, God bless us packing-weary parents). Back in my pre-child days, packing hardly mattered, probably taking up 1 zillionth of a tenth of a percent of my brain capacity to do (six days equals six days of socks and underwear plus some T-shirts, some shorts, a pair or two of pants, put on some shoes, throw in some toothpaste, and I was off). That's hardly the case anymore. Take, for example, if you have a spit-up-prone baby. Do you take two burp clothes, four, eight or, maybe, 16? Better take 24. And how many diapers do you take? Or wipes? Do I need to take baby medicine? Is it going to be cold or warm or cold and warm or warm and hot then ... AACK!!! You get t...

Willow's morning of play, play, play exhausts poor, old Dad

Willow's playtime universe continues to grow. Rapidly. Witness. In the midsummer heat, I take Willow out to our shaded backyard in the morning to play. And play she does. She climbed into her swing first. After I pushed her for a while, I got her out of the swing and put her in her wagon so she could help me convey bags of sand from the garage to the backyard to fill her sandbox (part of her new swing set) and her water table sandbox. She took rake and shovel and played in the sandbox for a bit. Then she waddled over to the deck and started to climb the steps to get to the water table. She played in the sand a bit, but most of her time was used dipping water up and out of the water part of the water table. Most the water ended up all over her. After that she wanted off the deck to go back to swinging. Instead I retrieved the new tricycle Cherish procured from a Franklin recycle center and cleaned it up. Willow loved the trike, holding on to the handle bars while I pushed her...

Daddy gets the afternoon all to himself

Few times in the course of stay-at-home daddyhood does an event like this happen. This, indeed, is historic. I get to take my tail out of this house and go do whatever I want (within legal, moral and ethical bounds, of course). By myself. Alone. Indeed, I say ... indeed. Cherish's mother and grandmother are coming to take care of Willow for the afternoon, giving me a much-earned afternoon to myself. And this is what I'm going to do: I'm going to find the manliest, biggest-waste-of-time, money-wasting, violent movie I can, and I'm going to lay down my wife's hard-earned dime, and I'm going to watch that movie. My pick: "Immortals." I read in the local paper this morning that "Immortals" was rated at only 1 1/2 stars. It's supposed to be a horrible movie. Good. I'm going to bask in the crappy escape from baby poo. I'm going to inhale the smell of stale popcorn and that what-the-heck-is-that?-pee? odor. And I'm going to ...