I cannot remember if it
was instinctive for me to transition from crawling to walking or if I just made
a decision to start walking on my own but there is one thing for certain, I
successfully made the transition. However,
there was a process involved: learning
to hold my head up; rolling over; discovering and strengthening my arms and
legs as I kicked and flailed them when I became upset and cried because I was
wet, sick, hot, cold, hungry, something itched, I wanted to be held, etc. since
I couldn’t speak and make my requests known verbally. I learned to get up on all fours and balance
myself on my knees and through encouragement I finally figured out the art of
crawling.
As a skilled crawler I had
more exploring capabilities like crawling from one side of the family room
(which we called the den way back in the day) to the coffee table which was
loaded with interesting shiny things.
But once I got there I couldn’t see them anymore let alone reach them no
matter how I strained my little arms and fingers they didn’t come anywhere near
the shiny items I saw from across the room.
One day while sitting near the leg of the table, I decided to try to
pull myself up but I didn’t really know what I was doing and after falling 3-4
times I gave up from exhaustion, not because I’m a quitter. Then something magical happened, my mom (who
must have been watching me the entire time) picked me up, put me in front of
the table and placed my hands on the edges as if to say: “this is how you hold
on.” I held on with a bull dog grip with
the dear in the headlight look on my face because I didn’t know what to do next
but I knew not to let go. Hon’tee I was
holding that table with a white knuckle grip.
She held me in place long enough for me to instinctively move my left
foot slightly to the left and I did the same thing with my right foot and I repeated
that motion over and over. It was like
crawling sideways standing up.
Wow!!! It took a minute, but
before I knew it I was on the other end of the table and my mom was smiling
from ear to ear. I never even realized
she had let me go. I looked forward to
those times when she would stand me up at the table and let me go (I didn’t
know it was a table then, I’m only able to share that with you now because I’m
fast learner).
Anyway, one Saturday
evening I decided I wanted to “side crawl” around the table but my mom stepped
out of the room, leaving me with my dad who was reading the newspaper and my
big sister, Deb, who was watching television.
I crawled over to my Dad and started my “Daddy, pick me up and stand me
up at the table” cry. He moved the paper
away from his face long enough to see if I was in distress but he didn’t move a
muscle when he realized I wasn’t. Well,
this was frustrating to me, so I cried a little louder as I crawled over to my
sister and she turned the television up and ignored me. Dad
found my pacifier, got up and gave it to me and I promptly spit it out as just
as he sat down. He looked at me somewhat
puzzled as I continued my: “Daddy, now I’m really mad, pick me up and stand me
up at the table” cry but he didn’t understand so when he said: “there’s nothing
wrong with you” and put his paper back up to his face I was ticked off and I
was not gonna be out done. With hot
tears streaming down my face and snot running down my nose I crawled over to
the table, got up on my knees and maneuvered myself to a standing position but
I was scared to move because I didn’t quite know how to grab the table
top. Just then my mom came through the
family room door and said: “Oh my
goodness, Tania learned how to pull herself up to the table.” She then placed my hands on the table and I
got it. I flopped back down on my
cushioned bottom on purpose, got up on my knees, pulled myself up, incorporated
what my mother had just taught me and I was able to grab the table on my own. Mom was ecstatic as she picked me up, wiped my
teary eyes and snotty nose with her red, white and black polka dot apron.
A few days later I was at
my favorite place, the coffee table. I
had made my way to the end of the table when something on the television caught
my attention. I let go of the table and
stood there in amazement on my own for about five seconds until my sister, Deb,
started screaming like a seal: “Oh, oh,
oh, look at Tan, she’s standing up.”
Well, hon’tee she bout scared the bah-jeebers out of me and I quickly
flopped down on my cushioned bottom as I started to cry my “oh my goodness, I’m
scared and I don’t know why” cry. My
Uncle Don who was in the room with us, realized Deb had scared me so he rushed
over to pick me up in an effort to sooth me, as huge crocodile tears rushed out
my tear ducts and down my little plump cheeks.
He then hollered for my mother: “Hazel,
come get Tan, Deb scared her and she won’t stop crying.” Well, sweetie, I yelled to the top of my
lungs in my “Momma, Momma, these idiots are crazy, Deb is squealing like a seal
and Uncle don just yelled in my ear, come and get me” cry. I was terrified, my heart was racing, my
stomach was in knots and my palms were sweating (I know that now because I’m a
fast learner). My mom was there in a
flash. She quickly ascertained the
situation as she and Uncle Don exchanged the precious cargo, me, and she began
to soothe me as only a loving, caring knowledgeable mother can in those special
words: “It’s ok honey, mommy is here;
You’re sister didn’t mean to scare you; You know Uncle Don is loud; Don’t cry,
sweetie, it’s ok; Now, now now, you’re alright; You’re a big girl.”
Something happened that
day. I learned to stand on my own and I
didn’t even realize it until after the commotion. That night while everyone was asleep, I
crawled over to the edge of my crib, pulled myself up by the bars and I let go. It was a little hard to balance in my
shoeless feet in my onesie pajamas but I managed to remain standing, somewhat
wobbly, for about three seconds until I fell, but I pulled myself up and I did
it again, and again, and again.
The next
day while at my favorite spot I let go of the table and I stood by myself as my
mother watched in amazement. I knew she
was excited because she was smiling from ear to ear. She was near the television because she had
just gotten up to change the channel from One Life to Live to General Hospital,
and I was as I said at the end of the table.
She held her hands out and said: “Come
to Mommy” as she beckoned for me with her hands. I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to do and
then something said: “move your feet”. I awkwardly moved my left foot and took
a step as I desperately tried to keep my balance by holding my little arms up and
away from my body. It kind of looked
like a puppet master controlling my feet and arms. I did the same thing with my right foot and
almost fell, but I caught my balance and I looked at my mom. She continued to encourage me and I took two
more steps and just as I was about to fall, she caught me, scooped me up in her
arms, twirled me around like a ballerina and said: “I knew you could do it; you’re
a big girl, you just took your First Step” as she hugged me and loaded me with
kisses.
I didn’t know it then but
all of the practice that I had months earlier mastering the crawl was necessary
to strengthen my muscles in preparation for walking. Using my limbs on either side of my body to
develop my lateral coordination, build strength in my thighs, butt, abdomen and
knees, all while simultaneously learning to keep my balance and build my
confidence.
I know I went down the
street, up the hill, around the corner, through the side door to get to the
front door, but I did it for a reason.
Can you imagine me as a growed up woman with growed up children and
grandchildren still crawling to get from one place to another? That’s a Selah moment.
I don’t even want to begin
to list the disadvantages I would be facing if I had not made an intentional
decision to take my First Step, even the intentional decision to crawl. Life, growth, development, improvement,
change, whatever you want to call it is about deciding whether or not to make
the First Step.
I know that there are some
people who believe that if they don’t make a decision they’re safe. Well, “hollon”, “hollon”, “hollon” shugga let
me let you in on a lil something, no decision is still a decision; it’s a
decision not to do anything. It’s a
decision to stay in the muddle puddle as Mz. Dee Stewart so eloquently
explained to us.
Oh my goodness, I’m out of
time, we’ll have to pick it up later.
Because of His Favor
Tania Not Tanya
No comments:
Post a Comment