Doors, steps

Happen to have a door, or a step, somewhere in your house? I know a little girl who'd like to visit.

Over the past month, Cleo's become fascinated by swinging valves and very slight changes in elevation. The tastes developed slowly: in March, she'd tug at a door, but was stumped when it ran into her leg, and refused to move further. And we spent a happy hour in a hotel suite in Staunton, VA, as she negotiated, again and again, a three-inch rise between living room and kitchen.

Since then, she's grown more confident, and more fluid, in her movements. Doors zip back and forth, unimpeded, and she's starting to try to climb more ambitious steps. The other day, in fact, she and a 9-month-old boy at the library reading group looked like clowns cast in a comedy of futility as they both tried to scale a ridge that must have been 14 inches tall. No dice, but the sight of their little legs rising, and bending, and striving, was memorable.

When I named this blog, I had both musical scales and babies' steps on the mind. Nearly eleven months of being a father have helped to show me how they relate: watching Cleo on the loose is increasingly like hearing a scale played, quickly, and with some adroitness.