At month eleven, Finn is running, running, running toward one year. He may cross that line barefoot, however, as I have yet to buy him shoes. I think it’s a form of denial: they somehow signify “boy” in the same startling way that his two front teeth did.
Oh, where is my baby going? Just two nights ago, I cheered on his first four steps in a row; yesterday evening he stumble-raced toward me so quickly that I lost count. Eleven, I think. Tonight, he nearly crossed his nursery, stopped only by a toy that I, in my frantic attempt to simultaneously fulfill duties as videographer, cheerleader, and — well — astounded mom, was unable to swat out of the way fast enough:
Finn’s not just walking; he’s sprouting. Up rather than out for a change. His legs are merely fat rather than sumo-style, and these days everyone exclaims, “how his face is thinning out!” What? Thinning out? My child? Even his fat baby boobs are about gone.
The most significant change this month isn’t physical, however; it’s in his new ability to communicate. He can show us how much he understands with a simple tool: his finger, the powerful POINTER. I didn’t realize the effect a mere index finger could have until Keith asked Finn, “where’s Mommy?” — and Finn turned and pointed at me intently for the first time. I felt my face flush and eyes water. It was as if he had finally assigned me the official position that I’d been holding since I heard that first heartbeat in the doctor’s office so long ago.
I remember that heartbeat: it sounded so unbelievably fast — like he was running a race in the womb. Now he’s got more places to go. I guess I’d better get him some shoes.