Milestones
Cherish the Peanut Week | Day One
When Robin's sweet little girl is four and a half months old, her first tooth comes in. She's annoyed by it, spends hours gumming frozen teething toys like they're candy to sooth her aching gums. She sucks on his fingers, on her stuffed bunny's ears, and even on this little rubber nipple thing Regina rubs chamomile tincture on, drooling so much Robin swears he could fill a bucket with spit.
She's five months old when her dreaded first cold hits. They've just gotten her to sleep and feed regularly, finally had some semblance of normalcy, when her hiccoughing cry over the monitor wakes Regina and Robin from a dead sleep. They're up for hours–everyone exhausted–fretting over Vi, making her formula so they can try and get her to eat, checking her temperature, rocking her, reading her stories. They even suction out her little nose so she can properly breathe. With Regina's assurance, Robin knows they've nothing to worry about, it's just a cold, but he worries nonetheless.
She's 10-months old when she takes her first step. A feat that fills their household with laughter and joy. She'd been trying to walk for weeks, would smile, and giggle, and stand on shaky, pudgy legs while holding onto his hands, but she'd fall on her bum whenever she'd let go. That Tuesday is different. That Tuesday she walks from him to Regina, and they both beam with tears in their eyes.
His daughter has lots of firsts–first skinned knee, first word (it was mama, and then dadda, and then p'ease), first of many tantrums, first day of kindergarten, but none puff Robin up as much as today.
Today, he's teaching his precious peanut how to ride her first bike.
"Alright, my darling." Robin encourages Vi to peddle, supporting her with two hands, one at her back and the other holding firmly onto the edge of her seat. "I won't let go, not yet."
"P'omise?" Vi asks, putting her right foot on the pedal and craning her head to stare back and up at him.
"I promise." He kisses the top of her helmet and whispers, "Not until you're ready."
"And mama's right here, if you need me, sweetheart." Regina encourages, her arms outstretched several feet away.
Vi nods and Robin puts the kick-stand up one more time so he can check her helmet. "How do I go?" she asks.
"Just like with your training wheels, a little bit of speed and look straight ahead," he says, tucking a few of her strawberry blonde curls behind her ear and fixing the strap under her chin. She looks looks up at him, and he chuckles.
"Silly goose," he bops her cute freckled-nose. "Don't look at me, look that way." He points toward Regina.
"Vi, Look at me. Look at Mama," she says, taking a few more steps back and waving her hand.
"Head up. We'll get you up over this gravel part here." Robin helps guide her, his hand supporting her balance again (she doesn't need it, he thinks; she can do this). "And then we'll go."
"Ok, Daddy." She peddles a little faster, and Robin jogs at a slow pace.
"You sure?"
"Yup. Ready."
"Alright, you can do this."
"Yup."
Robin grins. Cheeky little thing. She sounds so certain, so confident, and he expects nothing less. She is after all her mother's daughter. Vi takes after Regina in so many ways–has her spirit, her stubbornness, her heart–and for that he's so very thankful. They've raised a smart, sweet, kind little girl. One he can't imagine his life without.
"Daddy, you didn't let go."
Busted.
"Alright, alright. Here we go for real."
She wobbles a little at first, her hands jerking to the side as she momentarily loses her balance, but she catches herself, finds that perfect middle, and keeps going. One foot forward, then another, and another until Robin thinks she's got it. She's really, really got it.
She's half way between him and Regina when she shouts, "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"
"You are, my darling!" His heart swells, his feet beat against the ground as he jogs faster behind her, coughing a little at the dust she's kicking up.
"Almost here, sweetheart!" Regina shouts, smiling from ear to ear, her eyes watering.
For a moment, time slows down, and Robin sees so many more firsts in front of them. It starts with riding a bike, but soon their little Viola Marie is going to be driving (gods save him), boys will be lining up to steal her heart (he'll shoot them in the foot with an arrow if any of them hurt her. Maybe it'll be a girl who steals her heart–doesn't matter, they'll get an arrow to the foot as well if they break his daughter's heart), and she'll be moved out of the house before they know it. Her own roof over her head. Robin sniffles, his vision blurs, and then he hears Regina shouting.
"You did it, Viola! You did it!" Regina steadies Vi's bike and helps her down. She can get down on her own now, but Robin's sure Regina's just as impatient to hug their little girl just as much as he is.
He runs to them, cheers excitedly, and just before he's there, Vi turns. "Daddy, I did it, I did it!"
"You did, my darling!" He scoops her up and throws her in the air. She squeals, laughs, and it's one of the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard.
She did it. She rode her bike for the first time, by herself, and damn, he is proud. Gods, he's so proud of her, his little peanut.
He loves all the firsts, every waking moment of them, and on wonderful days like today where the sun is shining, spring blooms are blossoming, and his daughter and the love of his life are sharing in his merriment, well, it reminds him to enjoy the now, to live in the present. There are unknowns, sure, but he and Regina will face them as they always do–together.
These are wonderful days, indeed.