He’s eight months old today,
pulling chest up, sometimes
toes on floor, sometimes knees,
most often chest. He wants to crawl,
wants to move forward, gives up,
settles for rolling sideways.
She’s Mom, sitting on the floor,
encouraging, talking, loving.
She places a toy or pacifier
an inch away from tiny arm’s length
cheering him on, rooting for him,
supporting every move.
Nature’s rule, he will crawl.
Parent’s nurturing, he’ll reach goal
sooner, feeling better about himself,
wrapped in love.

God knows I’ll grow, develop,
move forward, that I desire it,
try for it. He helps me do it myself
by loving me forward,
inch by inch, increment on increment,
sooner with his presence, his guidance,
wrapped in his love.