Judah lay in the middle of the living room floor on his favorite blanket (well, in a few months it will become his favorite — right now he doesn’t necessarily its any different than just the rug) and played with his Dad. Paul had become the archetypal father since I’d last seen him and was cooing and giggling like any newly inagurated dad ought to. Sherri was working handily in the kitchen, creating a chicken salad fit for queens (and Jennifer) but would peek around the corner often to grin at her little family.
Gently balancing his son, Paul was working to teach his son the proper way to roll over. Judah was a masterful pro when it came to front-to-back rolling, but they were working on back-to-front and (more realistically) rolling to his back over his left side instead of the comfortable right side he had been defaulting to. With each new attempt, Paul was giving a play-by-play recap to Sherri that would make SportsCenter proud. She almost didn’t *need* to be in the living room, when he was giving such detailed monologue.
Soon Paul switched his tutoring technique to a more advanced form of learning: gently balancing his son, Paul was coaching him into sitting on his own.
It was wobbly.
Maybe a little unexpected.
And then it happened.
In the little bustle of family, and with a burst of glee, an excited shout, and an incredulous mother, Father and son had mastered the art of sitting up. On his own.
While I watched.