Today, while talking to Brother Mike, I said, "No, he's not quite crawling yet. He pushes with his legs but hasn't coordinated it with being up on his arms so he just scoots around on his face," which is even funnier than it sounds and not as damaging as you'd think.
Then I went to the park for a while with the dogs leaving the wee one sleeping while the hubby got some much needed billable hours. At least, that was the hope. There must always be hope.
I returned, feeling refreshed and almost a little sunned out (which is a cherished feeling here in the grey PNW), and walked into the studio to discover I had spoken too soon. Lo and behold, there is my little boy, crawling toward me with a smile on his face!
It's so sweet and exciting and terrifying at the same time. Every step he makes is one step closer to stealing my keys. But it's also a step to his independence, his discovery of the world and himself in it. It's a step of hope. Yes, there must always be hope.
