Water babies. Gymboree. Little Mozart. Play group. I had no idea how packed a baby's schedule could be. Notice that I say "a" baby and not "my" baby. Olivia doesn't participate in any of these activities. We don't even play classical music for her, or make her watch educational videos. Instead, she listens to Stevie Ray Vaughn with her dad, and roots through the cupboards with me. Sometimes we go outside and dig a bit in the mulch. Every now and again we cruise the grocery store. It feels like a pretty full life, but every time I hear about a friend or co-worker taking their baby to some class or other I feel a little twinge of guilt. Should Olivia be doing more? Are we maximizing her potential? Then I get a grip on myself and remember: she's a baby. Babies aren't supposed to have packed social calendars. Babies are supposed to drool, chew on their own feet, put things into their mouths, and subject themselves to endless amounts of hugs and kisses from their mommies and daddies. Babies are supposed to just be, and that should be enough.

All of this isn't to say that we haven't taught her certain skills. For example, if we say, "Oh my head!" Olivia will grab her head with both hands. She can also say "dog" with great authority, and can put a cap back on a water bottle - after taking a drink. She knows how to change tracks on the CD player and how to turn the volume up or down. She knows what a guitar pick is for, and which button activates the cordless phone. She also knows what a nose is, and thinks it hysterically funny to grab or bite one. These seem like reasonable achievements for an eleven month-old.

The truth is, I'm just not in any hurry for my baby to grow up. But she's an independent little creature who wants very much to be a big girl. She liked to stand on our laps from birth. She crawled at four months, and started cruising at nine months. Her greatest joy is to scale the stairs, and upon reaching the top, poke her plump arms through the railings and wave at the dogs below. How do you hold someone so determined back? I'm proud of her strength and bravery. I love that she's so fiercely set on exploring every inch of the house. I just wanted more time to cuddle and carry her in my arms.

Two weeks ago we took Olivia to the park with her Grandma Dodo. After an exciting first time on the slide, Mark and I each took a tiny hand and helped her toddle along the paths. A pair of ducks waddled out of the brush and crossed the asphalt in front of us. With a startled exclamation, Olivia dropped our hands and stumbled unsteadily after them. We looked at each other. "Well, there she goes." My husband said. Everyone clapped and cheered. "Olivia's walking! Hurray! Go get the quack-quacks Olivia!" It was a magical and happy moment, and I felt joy and astonishment. I also felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Hard.

In all of my fantasies of motherhood, going back years and years, my baby's first steps were beautifully and carefully choreographed. I imagined us on opposite sides of the room, me crouching and smiling as she staggered into my waiting arms. In every one of my daydreams, my baby walked toward me. In reality though, she dropped my hand and tottered away. Watching her go, I suddenly realized that she was leaving me behind only for the first time, and that our future would be full of many such partings. Her dad and I began to understand, as Olivia veered and swayed in her pursuit of the flustered and nervous ducks, that our hearts would break many times over the next eighteen years as our baby grew up and away from us. Perhaps guessing our thoughts, Grandma Dodo said, "It never gets easier, you know. But isn't it wonderful!"