Stairway To Heaven
Aug. 15th, 2012 01:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947There’s a lady who’s sure
All that glitters is gold
And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.
And when she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven.
There’s a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
‘Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook
There’s a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgivings.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
(Stairway to Heaven: Led Zeppelin, 1971)
Whew, childcare is hard work! After a 4-day stretch of taking care of Sarah, with one overnight sleepover, I’m exhausted and understand why parents miss so many of their infants developing moments. Mom and Dad are so fatigued by the end of the day that they start looking forward to the time when their toddlers are older, more self-sustaining, and less demanding of their attention. Of course, now I realize that babies only too readily accommodate this wish by growing up so fast that parents soon forget the stages they left behind. Therein lies the rub of parenthood: looking forward causes us to miss the details and memories of the first two years of infant development.
I think my favorite moment of the weekend was when Sarah and I went for a morning walk around our cul-de-sac. Actually “walking” is too generous a word. Uneven sidewalks, cracked cement, and separations between lawns and concrete still easily trip her up. I have to stay ever vigilant for those breaks in her path, and anticipate her short bursts of speed when she playfully decides to dash away from me, increasing the likelihood of tripping. Despite these sporadic sprints it took us well over 30 minutes to reach the halfway point of the curved street. Sarah, at 15 months of age felt it necessary to inspect every tree, lawn, and bush of our neighbor’s homes, and study the upright mailboxes and sidewalk utility covers on the ground. At the halfway point, she noticed for the very first time the cement stairway and metal banister leading up to the raised street above. She headed right for it. She grasped the barreled pipe made of cold steel with both hands, raised her left foot to the first step, and with a determined grunt using both arms and legs raised herself up one level. Step by step she went, noisily emphasizing the strenuousness of her efforts until she gained the top landing and walked to the barred exit gate that separated the stairway from the sidewalk and street beyond. She grasped the bars and looking beyond, pressed her face between the slots for a long time. Sarah looked up and down the long sidewalk, staring at the cars as they sped by and then at the trees and the sky above. A flight of birds soaring above caught her attention and she quickly step back from the gate and raised her arms toward me, indicating her desire to be lifted up and carried. Nestled in the secure sling of my arms, she continued watching the birds in flight.
“Dat”, she exclaimed, raising her tiny hand into the air.
“Those are birds”, I said, lifting my hand to imitate the gliding actions of the feathered creatures. “Swoosh”, I said, adding my own sound effects for the winged flight. Sarah too raised her hand and imitated my gliding motion.
When I grew weary of her weight, I put Sarah down and directed her attention back to the stairs, hoping she would take the clue and resume the remainder of our walk. Climbing down was a lot tougher than going up. Sustaining your balance on one leg while fighting the pull of gravity is the trick to descending stairs, and Sarah was still learning to walk and run without tripping and falling. This staircase was the steepest set of steps she had ever climbed with me. Fearlessly, she grasped the metal banister rod with her left hand and extended her left foot into the empty air above the step below. Her next action would have been to let it fall downward while balancing her body above it. At that daring moment I grasped her right hand to give her a counterbalance, and step-by-step we descended. I will admit that I did more on the downward trip than just providing a handhold for Sarah. A couple of times I suspended her in the air until she untangled her feet, found the ledge she was looking for, or regained her balance.
“Gen”, she announced, her feet touching the ground level, and she turned back and immediately repeated her ascending actions. Up, up, up, followed by down, down, down. With each ascent and descent, she got better and better, even as weariness set in. She might miss a step, or have difficulty reaching it, but she never faltered. She’d occasionally revert to crawling upward when overcoming a steep step or two, but quickly resumed an erect posture as soon as momentum was regained. We must have spent an additional 30 or 40 minutes going up and down that stairway, and we stopped only because I was growing tired. I finally interrupted her climbing compulsion by carrying her away from the stairway to a low terraced wall up the street where we could sit down.
“Whew”, I huffed, as we sat, side-by-side. “That’s a lot of work, Nena. Let’s take a break”.
She looked up at me and blew air out of her lips in imitation. But after only a momentary pause she said, “dat”, while pointing back at the stairs. I lowered her from our perch on the wall and watched as she scampered back to the foot of the stairs.
“I guess we’re not finished yet, huh Nena?” I groaned, standing up to follow.
I didn’t take photos of that first encounter with the cement stairway. It seemed like such a marvelously ordinary moment that I just enjoyed being a part of it (plus I couldn’t take my eyes or attention off of Sarah for a moment while she was climbing and descending). I realized that I had witnessed another wonder of growing up. This was learning – this was achieving physiological mastery of one’s body. Just as Sarah had progressed from lifting her head, flipping over from her back to crawling, from sitting to standing, and from inching to walking – so she was now climbing. What was so wonderful to see was her pure enjoyment at mastering this skill. She climbed because she could, and she got better the more she did it. I was the one who grew tired and bored. It was I who concluded that she had practiced enough and I carried her back home from the stairway. But I also knew that her brain, muscles, and nerves would remember all of these lessons and that she’d be even better the next time.
I wrote those words in my journal on Monday, February 20, 2012, when Sarah Kathleen was only 15 months old. Since then, I’d intended to write an essay or two about Sarah’s quickly developing skills, but never got around to it. As her coordination improved and I was able to put more attention to other things besides making sure that she didn’t trip or fall, I found myself taking more photos, but little writing. Her maturity was so rapid, and she was moving on to her next challenges so quickly, that I found it easier to video and photograph her progress instead of describing it. I came across that February entry this morning, and after re-reading it, I realized that Sarah was fast approaching her second birthday, without my having written an essay about her since January 9th (see House On Taylor Court), the eve of her move to a new home in Gardena. I thought she deserved a written update on her progress, especially since she had enjoyed watching the Olympics on television so much.
For a video of Sarah’s stair climbing skills, activate the link below to see her on February 11, 2012:
2012-03-11 Walking Up Stairs
They are amazing creatures.
Date: 2012-08-15 09:24 pm (UTC)Sarah's Climbing
Date: 2012-10-01 09:35 pm (UTC)My best to Kathy,
TRH