The Slide

There is but one source of true joy in life: climbing. And being chased. And, I suppose, eating books. Well, I shall delve into those other enjoyable activities another time, but for now, let us focus on climbing. Climbing is the act of reaching a higher, and, thus, more precarious, location. This is true thrill, and one that brings great consternation to my parents. This does not slow me down, but instead makes the act of climbing even more enticing. I know not the reason for their distaste of climbing, as it is completely safe. I may have fallen once or twice, and may have gotten stuck in a location from which I was unable to return without assistance, but this does not mean that the hobby is dangerous - it just means that I need better belayers. This parental dislike of climbing, however, does not extend to one location: the slide. The slide is an object built specifically for climbing and returning safely to the ground. One set of grandparents has one, and I could spend all my time climbing to the top and sliding back down. The only time when I feel any ounce of fear in relation to the slide is when My Dear Sister attempts to occupy the slide the same time as me.

Walking

Mommy and Daddy have, as of late, become very anxious regarding my lack of walking. What they have not realized, however, is that I see very little reason for me to master the art of walking, as they can do the walking for me. I appreciate the freedom afforded me by crawling, but if I wish to move more quickly or reach higher, I simply ask for their assistance. With this increase in their anxiety, however, I am now being asked to practice walking to an excessive degree. At church, at home, and abroad I am expected to walk while holding their hands. I disagree with this approach, and voice my opinion vociferously. Yet they persist, and I, eventually, acquiesce. Once I get into the walking it is not so intolerable, but why must I walk in the first place? Now they expect me to walk without any assistance. This is something I can do for short distances and they, sadly, have noticed this on the odd occasion. So the incessant demands for me to walk from Mommy to Daddy and from Daddy to Mommy have begun. I now realize, and resign myself to the fact, that, despite my best efforts, my days as a carefree infant are over, and my evolution into the toddler is nearly complete.

I guess I can be a toddler now.

First Daddy Daughter Date

I was recently taken on my very first date. I had very little idea of what to expect, and was quite nervous. Daddy was quite the gentleman, yet I was still fairly nervous as we posed for pictures and he escorted me to the car. 

I rubbed my eyes out of exhaustion - it had been a long day, and trying something new was not what I had in mind for what should have been a relaxing evening. Daddy commented on the occasion, stating that it was the first time he had ever taken me somewhere alone. I reflected on this thought, and suddenly longed for my mother. Yet, as the carriage pulled away from the castle, he struck up a delightful conversation with me.

"Ada say 'AAAH!'" he said.

"AAAH!" I replied.

On we went, with me telling him about my day, interests, and the intriguing sights I saw through my window, and he making nonsensical noises back at me. It was enjoyable, if not confusing. The carriage ride was short, yet by the time we arrived, my anxieties had been alleviated.

He escorted me into a building filled with tubs of colorful substances. He asked me which ones I would like, and I would point and nod to show my approval of particular colors or "flavors," as he would call them. He selected a fine brown one, and a brown cookie. We sat at a table, with me upon his lap. He made a serious courting faux pas, and asked that we pause for a photograph. 

That foolish man has never learned how I despise waiting for food. His next mistake was believing that the ice cream would be shared. He would give me a bite, and then take one for himself. I tried to be polite and said nothing, but attempted to convey through my facial nonverbal communication that he was making a grave error. Eventually, he and I decided it best that I eat the cookie and leave the ice cream, which was colder than I like, to him. 

Another Daddy was taking his daughter on a date at an adjacent table, and as she was sitting in her own chair, I asked to do so as well. I made quick friends with them.

Daddy and I talked about all sorts of pertinent current events, such as my ability to see my reflection in the windows, the posters on the walls, how frightened Daddy was by my insistence that I should stand on the chair, and my cleanliness. 

He tried to venture onto other topics, such as my behavior at home, but I lost interest.

Once I was finished with my cookie, we left. Again, I was uncertain about entering the car: Not because I was worried, but because I did not wish the date to end.

Standing Without Assistance

If there is anything that is less useful than standing with assistance, it is standing without assistance. Do not misinterpret my meaning - I still appreciate standing without having to hold onto anything. I feel so much pride each time I do so for my accomplishment, as well as a sense of thrill at the risk I am taking. I laugh often and applaud myself for being so daring. Yet I feel that it is nothing more than a means to an end, and that ends is walking. I will tackle that obstacle when I get there, much as My Dear Sister tackles me whilst attempting to stand.

Working on Walking

I know the next stage in my progression to be more like my sister is walking, but it is a difficult process. For a long time now I have had the ability to stand as she stands; yet I have not accomplished the task of taking a step. I practice - oh, how I practice: I hold hands with others (including cousins who seem unqualified to teach walking), I hold onto my walker and push it around, I walk along the side of furniture, and I will even walk holding onto one of my parents with one hand. Still I cannot take that step. I will stand and focus, but as soon as one foot dares to attempt leaving the ground, I fall. I have even tried pointing at my foot and telling it "Foot, I command you to be moved forward to this point" and point to its new location, and I still fall. No matter how much my parents encourage me and call to me with hands outstretched I continue to find the ability to walk, like their warm embrace, sadly out of reach. Until that joyous day, I will continue to utilize the walking ability of others and refuse to be vanquished.

Standing with Assistance

Pulling myself to standing is another talent which I have perfected long ago. Reaching perfection, however, was not without its bumps. Literally. I would get up, but then want to move to a new location. Luckily, I have now fully honed sitting down from standing, but as a neophyte I only knew how to fall on my head. Yet I was persistent, and mastered this skill without obtaining a single concussion. I wish there was a way, however, to move from one standing location to another without having to return to the floor. I see that others participate in an activity called walking. Perhaps I, too, should take place in this activity, and ask to be carried as they walk.

The Indecency of Getting Decent

I find no joy in getting dressed. I find no joy in getting undressed, either, but at least at the end of being undressed I reach a point when I am without clothes, and that is when the world is bliss. As soon as I am sans diaper and cleaned, I leap up and crawl away as quickly as I can. I will even stop and sit in an attempt to show my loving-yet-ignorant parents just how natural it is to be naked. Yet I am constantly being forced into some inane outfit. No matter my protestations, I am not allowed true freedom. I must continue the good fight, however, for if I fall silent, I may forever lose my inalienable right of freedom of diapers.