Titas stood wobbling in the middle of the room, legs shaking like thin branches in the wind. Everyone held their breath. This was the moment. His very first step. His eyes were wide with excitement and fear mixed together, mouth slightly open as if asking permission from the world. Then it happened. One foot moved forward, slow and unsure, landing on the rug.
A gasp filled the room. Titas froze, surprised by his own bravery. Then he laughed, a soft, proud sound, and took another step. His balance was terrible, his arms flapping wildly, but his determination was strong. Each tiny step felt like a victory. Mom clapped gently, encouraging him, her eyes shining with joy.
Suddenly, Titas stopped. His face changed. The proud smile faded into a strange, focused expression. Before anyone could react, he squatted slightly, still trying to stand, still refusing to fall. And then—oh no. A small accident happened. Poo dropped right onto the rug beneath his tiny feet.
For one second, silence ruled. Then laughter burst out. Titas looked down, confused by the warm mess and the sudden reaction around him. He lost balance and plopped down, landing dangerously close to his own surprise. His eyes widened again, this time in shock, then he started to cry, unsure why everyone was laughing.
Mom rushed over, lifting him carefully, checking his hands and feet. “It’s okay,” she whispered, half laughing, half sighing. She cleaned him gently while still praising him for walking. The rug, however, told a different story.
Later, Titas sat clean and calm, sipping milk, while the rug was scrubbed. His first steps would always be remembered—not just for walking, but for the messy, hilarious proof that growing up is never neat.
That day, Titas learned to walk. And everyone learned that milestones often come with surprises, laughter, and a little extra cleaning.
