Yesterday, after weeks of scooching around with one leg in front, rocking on his hands and knees but going back to sitting up, and generally not being all that motivated, the baby started crawling. With a vengeance, if that’s possible.
As with the clapping, he busted out this new skill while I was in the kitchen, paying just enough attention to make sure he wasn’t going to bash his head on the floor. A favored toy had rolled away, and nothing else was within easy reach. He sat there for a moment, looking from toy to toy. He looked at me. I said “Hi,” I think.
Then he took off on all fours, both legs behind him, cruised over to what he wanted, and sat down Iike it was no big deal. I cheered.
Today, of course, he is everywhere, going after everything. The heating vent, the door to the deck, that lovely but very pointy table in the photo above. When he went down for his first nap, I moved things and mopped and began mentally bracing myself for the beginning of a new era in which our primary goal is to keep him safe. While letting him explore. And only using the pack-n-play to contain him when it’s really necessary.
At times like this, when I feel fear and doubt taking over, I like to think of my friends who have triplets. And my cousin who has twins. Surely, if they made it through this, so will we.
Mama-Come-Lately 