Nate walked this morning. Not just a few steps either -- which he did over the weekend with Ron, Simma, Shana and me at Love's Folly -- we're talking walking down the hall and into rooms, his hands up by his elbows, his wrists bent like a drunk and his legs wobbling unsteadily and bird-like. Remember, he's 18 and 1/2 months old. To put this in context, some kids walk at a year or even 10 months. I know that at my first year birthday party, there is film of me running. For whatever reason, Nate was never interested in getting on his two feet. There were theories: the physical trainer-woman Jackie ruined him, or his crab-crawl got him where he wanted to go, or he was overly cautious, or he was simply resistant to what we urged him to do. It all seems rather goofy now. Of course he was going to walk. And with this, Nate grows up a little. Next up: diving to catch a ground ball up the middle, hopping up on his two feet, pivoting, and throwing that ball on a line to first base...
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