Every now and again, I find myself feeling really sad and pathetic.
And then I watch my 10-month-old try to pick up a bowl. He’s like, “Ooh, shiny!” and he goes for it. Picks it up. Realizes it’s heavy. Drops it. Squares his shoulders and goes in for it again. Picks it up. Drops it. Goes for it, misses, falls forward onto his face. Crawls around to a sitting position, picks up the bowl, and lifts it successfully onto the coffee table.
Crawls halfway onto the coffee table, slips, and tumbles backward. Comes back for the bowl, and knocks it off the table and into his face. Fusses for about two seconds, then gets distracted (by the bowl). Chews on it. Decides it’s too tough. Drops it again. Goes to pick it up and trips on his own pants. Grabs at it, misses, plays with the carpet before going back for the bowl.
It just kind of makes me think – you know, maybe I’m not so great at this whole “functional adulthood” thing. Maybe I didn’t get my pants on until 11 this morning. But at least I knew how to pick them up. ♦