Crawling Practice

He is learning to crawl this week. He will do it. He has every inclination, he just needs to figure out how his knees work.
I set three wooden blocks – clunk, clap – into a tower, just out of reach, tempting him. He bounces forward, arms outstretched – he loves his blocks.
“I’m not going to help you,” I say with a grin, “You can do it!” He looks up in my face and blows a raspberry at me, his eyes joyful.
I go back to the book I’m reading and look up when I hear him grunting. He is stuck – he has maneuvered one leg out behind him and is stuck in a chubby, baby-sized straddle split. His little camouflage pants are taught against his knees and thighs. He rests his hands on his hips and for a moment he looks just like a gymnast pausing on the high beam. Then he grunts again, begging me to rescue him.
I relent, straighten his little legs, and stack the blocks between them, right under his nose. As I lean back, he reaches for me, the blocks forgotten, a grin on his face. He spreads his arms wide, smiles until his two teeth show, and says louder than words, “I love you. Mom!”