Someday, around twelve years from now, the song Unsteady will come on the radio and I will tell Josephine how it was out when she was learning to walk and I used to sing to her "hold...hold on, hold onto me 'cause I'm a little unsteady...a little unsteady" and tell her it was her song.
At that time, around twelve years from now, Josephine will roll her eyes mightily and say that I've only told her that about a million times, MOM and then she'll wonder why I'm smiling anyway and appear not to have heard her. And it will be because I am remembering this chubby-cheeked 10 month-old who on her first encounter with stairs climbed right up to the top. Who jumps off the side of the swimming pool into her daddy's hands and doesn't mind that she gets dunked in the process. (Though if you put her on her back in the water, she will claw at your face in an attempt to climb up your head to safety.) Whose face still lights up in a smile when she sees me, even if I've just gone to the kitchen for a minute for a glass of water. Who crawls over now and again and holds out her hands to pull up just so she can snuggle her face into my neck for about a second and a half before climbing down to crawl off and play some more. Who loves it when I sing to her because she doesn't yet realize that I am a terrible singer and also the most embarrassing person ever to have lived.