I appreciate all the encouraging comments about my idea to take my daughters on a bike trip along the Canal du Midi.
I’m still looking for affordable tickets and thinking about when—and whether—to take the trip.
I spent more than an hour on the phone with an airline company but then their computers froze and I couldn’t purchase the tickets.
A sign we shouldn’t go?
The same day my friend Carla, who used to bike tour all the time, said she had panniers we could borrow.
A sign we should go?
Whatever we decide, I promise to keep you updated.
In the meantime, there are new developments closer to home.
Baby Leone is nine and a half months old and she’s finally started to crawl.
Her oldest sister learned to crawl when she was six months old.
I have a friend whose firstborn did nothing for an entire year. He sat and stared at the world, nursed, and slept. She was out of her mind with worry that something was wrong with him.
Nothing was wrong with him.
Every baby, just like every person, develops on his or her own time.
It’s time, apparently, for Leoneykins to crawl.
She juts out her left leg, keeps her right leg bent like a crab’s, and manages to move herself wherever she wants to go on her two hands, one reaching leg, and one cocked leg.
We’ve all been waiting for her to crawl and she has five eager faces smiling at her and clapping for her as she crosses the wide expanse of the kitchen.
But—like with every milestone with this baby—I have mixed feelings. I’m nostalgic for when she was more blob-like.
“I don’t want Leone to turn one,” Athena lamented this morning. “I want her to stay small and be a baby!”
Do you ever have mixed feelings about your children getting older or mastering a new task? Do you remember when your children started to crawl? What changed in your family when your children found their mobility?
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