The pace that we travel through the world is set by how we walk, changing as we age. Those first bumpy steps that mark a baby’s transition to toddlerhood. The slowed shuffle of an elderly person wandering down a supermarket aisle. That gentle placing of each foot in front of the other is an action we don’t even think about. We just do it.

Unless we can’t.

This time last year I had a non-toddling toddler. As my baby approached her second birthday she was the child sitting in the middle of the floor, watching helplessly as her peers ran and chased each other across the room. She withdrew, hiding behind frightened fingers, terrified she’d be trampled on or – worse – be left behind.

The hospital appointments notched up, the physiotherapy sessions increased and, eventually, we had an answer to the lack of walking. Hypermobility was to blame. A consultant calmly explained that our daughter’s joints were, quite simply, too bendy to hold her upright.

Her ankle ligaments were like pieces of chewing gum, stretching and stretching until, eventually, they hit something and stopped. In her case it was the floor, meaning her feet splayed outwards at 90 degree angles, with her ankle joint entirely on the floor. She was trying to balance on the surface area equivalent to the side of a pencil. Impossible.

When she started walking just before her second birthday, I cried. Watching her put one foot in front of the other all on her own melted me. The relief of her smile caught in my throat as I hugged my congratulations and whispered how proud she made me.

From that moment, her legs have strengthened and we went from doddery walking to running, climbing to jumping. She walks on clouds now, her toes barely touching the ground as she races from one game to the next.

We walked our neighbour’s dog at the weekend. I took the buggy, just in case. But as we approached the muddy canal path, Frog asked to get out. “I chase Boots?” she shouted.

This time last year she wasn’t walking.

Now look at her.

***

This post was written towards this week’s Gallery at Sticky Fingers, where the theme is Walks.

And on another note, nominations are now open for the Brilliance in Blogging Awards. If you wanted to chuck a nod my way for the Writer or Family category, I would be eternally grateful.

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When Frog toddled and then ran into the room, my friend’s question was answered. “Wow,” she said, “It’s like she’s a different child”.

Just seven months ago my daughter was a toddler of the non-toddling variety. We were in the midst of appointment after appointment to get to the issue behind her inability to walk. Hip dysplasia was ruled out, hypermobility was ruled in, along with flat feet.

Today, we sat in the physiotherapist’s treatment room, watching as our two year old treated the (ever patient) physio to a full show of jumping and running. She bounced around the room, bending down with a look of intense concentration, before shooting upwards, arms stuck to her sides, and taking off at least a centimeter in the air. With each jump, she gave herself a full round of applause.

Echoes of the words I heard at the weekend came back to me. “”Wow,” said the physiotherapist, “It’s like she’s a different child.” After being told it was unlikely our toddler would be signed off until she was at least five years old, today came as a welcome relief.

“I’m satisfied there’s nothing more I can do for her that she can’t do for herself. She’s developed at a far faster rate than I thought. Her progress is amazing. She doesn’t need any more physio sessions from me,” the physio told us.

My heart swelled with pride as I watched my daughter pogo her way around the room. Every step she’s taken has been hers and hers alone. I’m so proud of her for that.

There’s one more appointment to get through before we’re finally free – and it’s likely we may be back in the future for more sessions as Frog gets older and may experience growing pains or discomfort in her joints – but, for now, we are signed off.

Signed off. I like it.

Taking the steps on two feet.

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We had yet to face that dreaded day when we would be hurried from a health visitor to a doctor to a hospital, to be told our bendy, non-walking 20 month old may have something wrong with her hips.

I was concerned, but not overly. Whenever anyone commented on the fact that my baby (who still very much looked like a baby, rather than a toddler) was slow to “get going”, I just shrugged my shoulders and replied that she’d, “do it when she’s ready”.

It would be six months before we’d be told she’d likely need physio throughout her childhood, that her fleet were “very flat”, that it would be a waiting game before we knew if she suffered from full-blown Hypermobility Syndrome, or if she was just a “bit too bendy”. 

Looking back, it was a huge blow to be told my little girl had something “wrong” with her. I’d buried the paranoid first time mum deep down and attempted an Earth Mother approach, only to go off the scale with worry as soon as it was confirmed she faced a few challenges in the walking stakes. Although I was overcome with relief that she wouldn’t need surgery or a cast – and of course I knew things could be SO much worse – there was still a little part of me that felt sad.

I looked at her special hospital issue shoes, saw her struggling to get up and play with her peers, watched as she shrank within herself rapidly losing that sparkle and diva streak I’d come to know and love. And I wondered if that was it. Would my child always be held back by these wonky limbs we’d passed down to her? Would she ever just be, you know, a spirited toddler?

And the answer is, of course, yes.

This weekend I watched as my toddler – now very much toddling – ran through puddles, walked hand-in-hand with her dad, threw pebbles in a lake and jumped to make huge splashes of water drip down into her wellies.

And at bedtime, as I readied her pyjamas to cover her long-limbed, bendy little body, I heard her making whirring, zoomy noises behind me.

“What are you doing poppet?” I asked. “I plane Mummy,” She replied. “I flying”.

I turned to see my formerly non-walking toddler mimicking an aeroplane as she raced around the room.

From crawling to flying. Oh far we’ve come.

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