The Scooch: A Mother's Lament

When I woke up on Wednesday morning, my life encountered a slight change.

I put The Caterpillar on the ground to play as I prepared for the day - makeup, hair, quick tidy - and when I turned around, she was certainly not where I placed her. She scooched to a new arena.

Now, The Caterpillar has been "walking with assistance" for about a month. She gives us her hands and we give her our fingers, and off we go, walking through the house, exploring the world. She has demonstrated 0% interest in crawling and to be honest, I was alright with that. In fact, I was in control of that. I was her aid.

But all of the sudden out of nowhere, she scooches. She scooches everywhere. Up and down the house, and then lifts herself to stand with just about anything she can leverage. She's into the printer paper and the plug outlets and the crumbs we left on the floor to vaccuum later.

To me The Scooch is more than the physical act of bum-sliding over our hardwood floors and carpets.

The Scooch is mobility, is independence. I don't want to over-dramatize this: I don't feel as though I've lost my baby; she's not making cell phone calls and locking herself in her bedroom to listen to Lady Gaga and practice dance moves (although when that time comes, I WILL be videotaping). She's just scooching.

But she doesn't need me to reach her toys or find new ones, or pull silver clink-clanky bowls out of the cupboard to throw around the kitchen.

Instead, she's got The Scooch.

She scooches.