Of a Walker

When Micaiah first began toddling about two years ago, we were eager to graduate her from the "Crawlers" Sunday School class to the "Walkers," where she could be with her friends (she had taken longer to reach the milestone than her comrades), but we were (only slightly) disappointed to be encouraged to keep her with the younger ones as she was not yet confident in her two-footed abilities and the Walkers, we were told, were a rough bunch.

And so she stayed, until she was running circles around those crawling babies and was finally forced to mosey along.

Thus, I anticipated the same slow transition with Emmett - who, at sixteen months was, by far, the oldest kid in his Crawlers class, but since a Crawler he was, in the class he stayed.  Apparently, though, they were much more eager to move our slow developer along because at the first signs of steps, he was hurried on up to the Walkers class, where he enjoyed his first Sunday this morning.

And it would seem the title has done much to increase his confidence.

It seemed the moment we got home all he wanted to do was be on his feet, as if seeing all those other kids his own age running around made him realize he could do it, too.  After lunch, while playing with his wooden train, he stood to play, only to bend over to actually roll the train along.  And when I asked for help putting the toys away, rather than crawling quickly over as he typically would, he proudly pulled to his feet to toddle across the room, as if to say, "Sure, Mom, I'll just head on over - on my own two feet - just a walkin' on over, 'cause I'm a Walker now, you know!"

That's my little man, the Walker.