The forty-third week

Our house is quiet tonight - a hectic season has at last come to an end. Madeline seemed to enjoy her Christmas and was duly showered upon, although she would have been happy to just play with the bows and ribbons that adorned the gifts piled under our tree.

She also enjoyed the company this week - there were grandparents, aunts and uncles everywhere in sight, and everyone was eager to spend time with Madeline. She has a way of soaking up the attention from everyone else and then, right when I begin to suspect that we could be replaced in her affections by any adult human, she lets us know that she still holds a special place for mommy and daddy.

Earlier this week I wrote that Madeline suddenly wants to do nothing but walk around our house. We had plenty of helpers here this week to offer fingers for Madeline to grasp as she made her laps. And she must have made a hundred of them - she could probably walk for a half-hour straight if our backs were up to it.

Occasionally, as we pass by a reflection during one of our strolls, I'm struck by the vision of my little baby (who, in some ways, still seems so new) walking intently, her head turning from side to side as interesting objects emerge into her sight and syllables of delight spill from her mouth. She's a real, tiny person, and that's something that sneaks up on me from time to time. Physically she's not that much bigger than the helpless infant we brought home from the hospital 10 months ago, and yet she's walking! Imagine if, as adults, we could achieve the relative level of physical and mental development over the course of 10 months as an infant. We'd all be Olympic athletes who belong to Mensa.

I imagine it will be a little difficult to watch Madeline grow and strive for independence because I always want to keep her so close to me. Someone said this week, as I complained about the discomfort from the awkward slouching position required to walk Madeline around, that I should enjoy these moments when she reaches for each of my hands, one by one, before leading me on a breathless sprint across the room. Because soon enough she won't need my fingers.