I have a confession to make. This week, I’ve been holding out on you. There are certain bits of life that seem to shine more than others – the finer things, if you will. We had one recently, and I thought that it warranted more than just a MOMent of the Day. I have been waiting all week to share it with you.

My grandfather, who lives alone, hasn’t been able to leave his house for quite some time due to injuries from a car accident that occurred last November.  The Munchkin and I try to make the hour trip for a visit with him once a week, but lately our visits have been spaced farther apart, and thanks to the germs we’ve been fighting recently, a few weeks had passed since we had been able to make it over there.

Last Saturday we were all feeling better and I was pretty confident that we were no longer contagious, so we decided some Great Grandpa time was in order.  While we normally pack our vehicle full of baby paraphernalia for these visits (there isn’t a lot of baby-friendly play space at my grandpa’s house), The Hubs and I were in a bit of a hurry so we ended up with whatever happened to be stashed in the diaper bag at the time. This turned out not to be much. As a result, The Hubs and I found ourselves working a bit harder than usual to entertain The Munchkin, whose giggles and squeals in turn entertain my grandpa.

Here is my MOMent of the Week:

The Hubs and I are on the floor in the cramped living room of my grandfather’s house. The room itself isn’t so tiny, but the actual space for baby play is comparatively small now that the room is filled with a lift chair, walker and various other medical and household debris that tend to accumulate when one lives in a single area of the house. There are a lot of components of the room that we prefer to keep off limits to The Munchkin, and since we are without the aid of a Pack-n-Play or other form of baby containment, The Hubs and I have resorted to using ourselves as barriers.

My grandpa is sitting above us in his chair, amused by our method of baby corralling. As often happens, we begin discussing when The Munchkin will start walking. My Grandpa, who began saying that she would be toddling around by Christmas, has set her upcoming birthday as the new walking deadline. He is convinced she will make it (though he has already lost a $100 bet to me on the subject).

I am not so sure.

For one thing, The Munchkin doesn’t seem very interested in walking. She’s too efficient a crawler to have much motivation to begin ambling around on two feet.  For another, she seems to need a bit more coordination in the vertical department before walking is a realistic possibility. She’s a leaner – on my legs, on the mesh walls of her Pack-n-Play, leaning forward from my arms – whatever it is, she tends to lean rather than stand completely on her own. I make these points to The Hubs and my grandfather, telling them that I don’t think she’ll be walking.

“Let’s see,” The Hubs challenges.

“Fine,” I agree, placing The Munchkin between my legs in standing position. “I would love to be proven wrong.”

She starts out balancing with her back leaning against my chest. Not standing on her own. I hold my arms in front of me in The Hubs’ direction.

“Go see Daddy,” I encourage her. The leaning continues. I slowly ease her forward so that now she is standing between my outstretched arms and legs balancing her weight by only holding onto my left hand. Suddenly, she seems much more able to make a move, though I still doubt she will.

The Hubs is sitting opposite me in the same position, arms and legs outstretched, a big grin on his face.

“Come on,” he says, wiggling his fingers in a gesture that illustrates his words.

The Munchkin smiles her big open-mouthed grin and bounces excitedly from her new position. Her feet remain planted on the floor.

My grandpa peers down at the action on his living room floor, his face full of curiosity and anticipation over what might be happening.

“Come on,” The Hubs says again, wiggling his fingers. They are just beyond mine – about two baby steps away.

The Munchkin, mouth still smiling wide, giggles at her daddy. And then her bouncing changes. One foot steps forward. Then the other. She begins making her way toward The Hubs, using my left arm for balance.

She toddles the length of my arm. And suddenly, just as she runs out of arm to hold, just as I expect her to plop her padded bum on the carpet and crawl into her father’s arms, she takes a step.

Did you catch that? She takes a step! Not holding onto my arm. Not yet in her father’s grasp. She takes a step entirely on her own. Her very first.

And then she takes another.

And then another until she falls into her destination – her father’s arms.

She knows she has accomplished something big.

She throws her arms around his neck and exclaims, “Aaay!” A cheer for herself.

We are clapping and cheering too. I have never been so proud to be wrong.

I look up at my 81-year-old grandfather, beaming with pride and excitement in his chair.

“I told you,” he says, and then returns to watching his Western.

Of all places and with all people, I am glad The Munchkin decided to take those steps in front of him. He needed to be  a part of something special.

Later that afternoon, my grandpa decides to get up from his chair for something. Only instead of asking someone else to get it for him, or shuffling behind his walker, he stands up from his chair and walks using only a cane for support.

“I’ve got some competition now,” he says. And he is right.