Baby Steps

On milestones, patience, and pride

Caleb started rolling all the way last week. From stomach to back and back to stomach — and now I can’t stop the kid. He’s on a roll (in more ways than one).

He’s also started holding his own bottle and pulling himself up to sitting. These days he loves to sit so much that every diaper change becomes a battle — me laying him down, him popping back up, laughing like it’s a game. Last night I even crooned “can’t hold us down!” at him, Christina Aguilera–style, while he fought to stay upright.

Tomorrow he’ll be 13 months old. And yes, I know he’s a little “late.” I know some people might tilt their heads and quietly wonder, what’s wrong with him?

But here’s the thing: there is nothing wrong with my son. He’s in therapy now, working with patient hands who cheer him on, and every week I see him getting stronger. But those appointments don’t define him. He’s still just Caleb — the boy who laughs when I sing off-key and insists on doing things in his own time.

When he was nearing his first birthday without crawling or pulling up to stand, his doctor referred him to early intervention. A team of specialists came to test and measure and poke and prod. That was the first time fear truly set in — when the technical terms started flying, when words like “delays” and “sensory” had me googling late into the night, trying to read the future in medical jargon.

But I stopped myself. I decided I wasn’t going to call him “wrong” or “abnormal.” Different, maybe. But never wrong.

And right now, “different” just means he’s on his own timeline. He babbles, he laughs, he claps. He’s silly and stubborn and curious. He still prefers purees over textures, so we’re working on that in OT, too. He’s simply taking his steps — literal and figurative — a little slower than some.

And I couldn’t be prouder. Because every roll, every sit, every tiny triumph feels hard-earned. I understand baby steps now in a way I never did before: as victories, as lessons in patience, as proof that progress doesn’t have to come fast to be real.

Whatever the charts may say, whatever milestones he hits late or on time — none of it will ever change how we see him. Our love isn’t measured in checkboxes. Our pride isn’t waiting on a finish line. He is already enough, exactly as he is.

We’re getting there, Caleb… we’re just baby stepping.