The Walk

This post is dedicated to N, the bundle of joy in my life.

Every morning, we go for a walk. She’s 3 years old now, and stands proud at 40 inches. She can walk on her own, and her first hesitant steps have turned into a confident strut. She’s so excited about this little escapade of ours that long before it’s time to leave, she’s at the door, socks and shoes in hand, tapping at the door, standing on her toes trying to reach the door knob. She even tries to put the jacket on herself - struggling, fumbling, fighting, mumbling – giving the occasion the sense of urgency it so obviously deserves.

As soon as we step out, she greets the outdoors with an excited babble of sounds and starts trotting away. If I’m lucky, she’ll want to hold my hand. She seems to know exactly where she wants to go each day. No amount of cajoling will get her to change directions. Most days, she walks resolutely to the park and stands at the gate, one hand pushing hard at it. Once we’re inside, her excitement rises up a few notches – the babbling is louder, the pace is quicker. She points to the birds flying above us and says `tweeet" as each one goes by. She knows her ladybugs, dragonflies, butterflies and keeps pointing them to me. She says Hi to almost everyone we encounter.

Discoveries and lessons abound on these daily excursions of ours. I like to think that I'm the one doing the teaching - expanding her horizons by showing her new things every day. In fact, she's teaching me too. I've learnt that it helps to crouch really low if you want to talk to a cat and not have it run away. When she meets the scary (to me, not to her) black cat, she points to it and looks up at me, to make sure I haven't missed the momentous sighting. She then bends really low and squeals for what seems like a very long time to me. The cat just stares at us the whole time. Another revelation is that you simply don't walk past fallen leaves - you step on them with a ferocity that belies the size of the one doing the stepping. It's almost musical, the crunch of leaves under her tiny feet, trodding repeatedly back and forth over a few square inches, making sure no leaves have been missed.

The morning walk started off as a last ditch effort to get her to take a morning nap. It worked, and for a while, the walk was a great means to an end - a long nap, a rested baby, a happy mom. Over time, it's grown into something more - a daily ritual, enjoyable for its own sake, and something I look forward to. For thirty minutes, I leave the messy house with its un-made bed behind me, with not a thought of the lists that lie waiting. For thirty minutes, I walk, breathing in the cool crisp air of the winter morning, feeling a little sorry for all the people who are in cars instead, driving to work. For thirty minutes, I walk, every morning, with N, feeling like the luckiest person on earth.