Commando

Well, let the baby-proofing commence. The boy has started to scoot and crawl. For the longest time he would roll to what he wanted, which I give credit to a developing intellect. I guess he figure it would be more fun to roll 180 degrees to get his toy than to just scoot a few inches and grab it. Now he looks alarmingly like a mini-marine (especially when daddy puts him in his camo pants), as he crawls around on his elbows.

With the crawling comes something new: bumping his head. The look of surprise registers on his face, and if we don't look at him he won't cry. If we do, it's all over. How quickly they learn, the little manipulators. The joys I have to look forward to when he is a teenager. But he won't let me suck on his fat little cheeks when he is 15, so I have to get it all in right now.