I stand in the laundry room, holding the door from the garage open. I watch Brinley has she conquers one, two stairs, stumbles on the third and can barely lift her leg on the fourth. I ask her if she needs me to hold her hand and she politely declines, "I can do it myself". After we get our winter gear off she sits down on the floor. "I'm having a bad day" she tells me, "my legs don't listen to me anymore and I tell them to lift higher and they don't, so I can't go up lots of stairs."