Remember this moment: You were playing so well in the basement, while your dad and I relaxed and happened to catch a special on PBS about gorillas. It must be mentioned that when you saw those gorillas, you made your doggy noise and ran to the tv to touch them. But then you went back to running around the basement, distributing toys across the room, and making various noises.
When the program on gorillas ended, your dad and I looked at one another. That's when he said it: "Let's go to the park." We suggested to you that we get your shoes on and we were out the door. Since the park is close by, we let you walk. Holding our hands was the last thing on your mind. You wanted to run, and run you did, not even sure of where we were headed. I guess park isn't a word you quite grasp yet.
Dad picked you up and set you on the playground equipment, offering help when you needed it. Ever since Spring we've had to hold you while you rode down slides. We've sat you on our laps, we've held your hand, we've caught you at the bottom. But not this time. I snapped away with my camera, enjoying the gorgeous setting sunlight while dad watched you from the bottom of the slide, and you slid down all by yourself. A small feat in this world, but at 16 months of age, we were quite proud. And I think you were too.