You know how when you’re childless, people gush excitedly about little things like how the kid made some sort of grimace that looked like a smile at a month of age and he was SMILING AT YOU AND IT WAS ALL WORTH IT; or how the baby moved its little hand in a certain weird fashion– akin to screwing in a lightbulb– and the grandmother squeals like a ditzy choragos because the baby waved farewell SO EARLY; or how that freakish little white lump on the gum that you’re pretty sure looks like congealed semidigested goo is actually a tooth and coaxes tears of joy from the bewildered mother who stuck a finger in there and withdrew it laced with tiny but vicious toothmarks?
Yeah…. back when you’re in your childless days this all sounds about as exciting as watching WHITE paint dry.
But I am here to tell you, O Childless Masses, that it is all pretty damn thrilling. I mean as in tears-in-your-eyes-and-mush-where-your-brain-used-to-be kind of thrilling. As in, I will bore you to tears with it, retelling it often.
Herr Meow took two steps completely unaided last night and we were cooing, oohing and awwing as if…
…well, as if our firstborn child, light of our lives and insomnia of our nights, had taken his first two steps.
Right toward the television.
That’s our boy.