I remember when my kids were learning to crawl. I would set them on the floor on their butts. Then they would find their way to their tummies. Then get up on all fours and look as if they would just take off. But they couldn’t quite get the movements coordinated. Move hand. Move knee. Move other hand. Move other knee. It seemed so simple to me, yet sooner or later they would give up and roll over, content on their backs chewing on their wrists. Or they would get frustrated, lifting their arms in hopes to be picked up. And I would pick them up and make them smile again. Even though I knew that the only way they would learn to crawl is if I kept putting them on the floor.
Of-course, eventually it would just click. One day I would set them on the floor on their butts. They would find their way to their tummies. And then get up on all fours. And then they would just take off. And you cheered because they finally got the movements coordinated. They finally got it.
And so it goes with my kids. Watching them struggle to “get” something, when it seems so simple to me. Like Eli trying to tie his shoes, insistent on doing it all himself. Then getting frustrated when he can’t quite get it, finally handing me the laces to help him out. Like Evie learning math, struggling to coordinate the numbers in her head, yet she’s content just giving up and rolling over.
While watching them I’m also learning myself. I’m learning to relax. To trust that eventually they will get it. Eventually they will get the movements coordinated. Eventually they will take off and before I know it they will be pulling up on things and walking and my life will never be the same. Gosh, sometimes that’s hard to do, isn’t it? Trust that they will take those steps in their own time. It’s my job to be their cheerleader and to pick them up when they need picking up, and to make them smile when they are frustrated.
Sometimes I feel like I’m still learning to crawl myself.