"David!" I yell. I swear, if that man has left me alone with his child...

I stomp into the bedroom where Tim's playpen is and stare at him. "What? What do you want from me? I don't know what you want!" I'm crying just as hard as he is.

"Mama," he cries with a little baby hiccup, holding his arms out for me, his little hands opening and closing as he tries to tell me what he wants. "Mama!"

I pick him up and hold him close, both our tears slowing to tiny little snuffles every now and then. Eventually, he starts to squirm to get down.

"You're going to be one of those kids that's never still, aren't you?" I ask with a sigh wiping the tears from both our faces. Just my luck. I get stuck with a kid that likes to run instead of walk.

I sit him on the floor with some of his favorite toys. "Be good for Mama. I need to go finish dinner," I say as I rub his head before walking back into the kitchen.

Big mistake. Tim starts to scream again as soon as I'm out of his sight.

"Oh, alright," I give in. "Come on."

As I start to walk back across the room to pick him up, he stands up; he's been doing this for some time now, and takes a step.

His first steps!

He's eleven months old and is already walking. After about a dozen steps he loses his balance and falls on his diapered bottom.

"Timmy! You wonderful, smart baby boy, you!" I exclaim as I rush over to him before he can decide if he's hurt or not. I swoop him up into my arms and hug him until he squeaks. "Oh, you're so very wonderful," I tell him again and again as I press kisses all over his face and head.

"Mama!" he complains squirming to get down.

I set him on his feet and watch as he takes a few more steps before again falling on his bottom.

"That's okay. Everyone falls at first," I murmur as I help him stand back up and try again.

We spend the next hour like this. Him taking a few steps, falling, giggling, and trying again. He has such a sweet baby giggle. If he would only laugh more...