Letter: Ten little piggies went home

We captured the historic moment on video. 

Her little legs at first refused to move, her feet as it were locked in concrete.  She hesitated, uncertain what next was required. 

She was standing.

On her own.

How did she get here anyway?

No coffee table nearby.  No couch, or chair she’d often worked herself along.  No box of toys, or basket of laundry she’d often pushed around the room.

The distance of but two outstretched arms separated her from safety, a love irresistible drawing her from the unknown.

Unfamiliar territory was this carpeted crisis.  Between a rock and a hard place she was, though, of course, at 13 months she had no idea what that meant.

There were not, however, two equally difficult alternatives, as to turn back was incomprehensible.  How, after all, to turn?

Besides, there were those hands before her, reaching; that smile, ear-to-ear beckoning; the voice, calling her name.

Her mother.

And so, awkwardly, robotically, one step, two, a half-faltering and then caught she was in mom’s embrace as grandma and grandpa watched in wonder this rite of passage.

Two-and-a-half-steps followed by hugs and kisses, laughter and tickles as all ten little piggies made it home.