Milo has been dangerously — and I do mean dangerously — close to walking for about a week. So I've been watching his teetering more closely than usual. I admit, I have not watched him as closely as I should have at times. I shudder to think of the THREE, count them, THREE seconds I turned my back on him in the kitchen last week with the dishwasher open and I turned around and he was holding a KNIFE. Gingerly. In my direction. As though to say, "Woman, hello? I am holding a knife?" Why am I telling you this? I am not that bad of a mother. I am just a bad editor.
Milo's first real steps happened on Saturday at Kevin and Patrick's house. We spent a delightful weekend with them in Dallas, where we had better accommodations than the Four Seasons. Patrick kept asking Lucy, "Are your needs being met?" Um, unlimited limeade, Duck Tales, and princess-style bubble baths in a sunken tub? The answer is "Yes, thank you." Although the first time he asked her, she said, "I don't know how to answer that question." Patsy even came to help babysit, while Jason and I went to the Rangers/Yankees game Saturday night (thank you!).
It was only fair that Patrick and Kevin got to see Milo's first steps and I didn't: I was taking an extra-long shower in their fantastic guest bathroom, perfectly decorated with a subtle island theme. Of course Milo first wobbedly-walked around their thoughtful house filled with breakable decorative items, expensive electronics and fresh paint — early signs of good taste (or a death wish).