These Legs Are Made for Walking...

During the past several days, I have been driven to eliminate my limp as much as possible. I've bought a treadmill through Craigslist, and, although the belt continues to slip, it seems to be working well enough for my purpose. I have marked intervals of precisely 11 inches along the side of the treadmill. When walking, I am constantly gazing down to make sure that my stride length remains equal. Hopefully, with time, I'll be able to look up when I walk.

I am consciously aware as I am walking around the house and through the neighborhood, trying to maintain equal stride length and to "fire" my muscles in my rear evenly. This is not an easy task. I am trying to undo six years of poor amputee habits. I was also on crutches for several years before the amputation which resulted in, to say the very least, a strange gait.

Scott has taken videos of my walking which confirm that my dedication has been paying off. My limp, although still visible, does not seem to be as prominent. I know I need to continue to work on this skill because I find myself slipping into old habits when I am not concentrating. I have taken to eradicating my gimpy limp as my "mission" for the year.

I am hopeful that these skills will become second nature. Robby has begun to notice Mommy's new walking style. Actually, he has noticed Mommy muttering "even step, squeeze... even step, squeeze" as I walk through the house.

He is in the "mimicking" phase. He wants to do everything just like Mommy and Daddy. That is, everything except use the toilet correctly. He continues to enjoy drawing inside the bowl with with his soap crayons and watching his masterpiece flush away, but that is a topic for another day!

We went to the craft store the other day, which is always a crap shoot with my little cherub. (Yes, we steered clear of the bead section. I don't want another emergency room visit!) He promised that he would "walk like a good boy." Feeling generous, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I allowed him to walk next to me, warning him that one false would end his free mobility for the afternoon. Alas, he was good.

He was happily walking through the store when I heard him softly begin to sing a song. At first I couldn't understand the words. When I asked him to sing a little louder so that Mommy could here, he obliged. Loudly he began to sing "squeeze, steppy, squeeze, steppy" as proud as a little peacock.

He smiled at me, and said that he was walking like Mommy. I was taken aback, but it was hard not to find his song endearing. Robby then pointed to his little diapered butt, and told the employee arranging the scrapbook paper that he was "squeezing Robby butt like Mommy."

I tried to laugh it off, and the teenager was at a loss for a response. Robby and I continued, squeezing and stepping as we walked. He continued to sing, and eventually asked me to sing as well. We were quite the pair, walking through the aisles softly singing "squeeze... steppy... squeeze... steppy."

Unfortunately he paired this song with a catchy tune. I haven't been able to get the song out of my head all day! I found myself walking through the house singing the "squeeze... steppy" song karaoke style. Unfortunately, I continue to have no singing talent but I do possess a plethora of enthusiasm. I am afraid that Robby has inherited my singing talents...