blogs

From my regular blog at http://plasticsnappythings.blogspot.com/

Baby J is a magic butt-scooter.

He showed me how on Saturday, when we had people over for dinner. Here's how it works: I set Baby J down on the floor. I look at something else for three seconds. Then, when I look up, he is five feet away, reaching solemnly to unplug the television or turn off the computer. (I swear: he knows exactly which button to push, and that's the one he wants.)

His Luddite tendencies please me.

That being said, he usually finds the one thing that he shouldn't be reaching for, and reaches for it with a reverence I usually associate with Hallmark cards or extreme religious experiences. He looks like he's about to find the meaning of life right after he turns off the computer and demolishes my Library School paper.

So, of course, I feel guilty when I pull him away and try to distract him with my husband's expensive calculator, say, or one of the remote controls. Or, sometimes, a cat.

Don't misunderstand, though: I'm not saying he can crawl.

He does not crawl.

(I prefer that phrasing to the more common, "he cannot crawl." I am convinced that he could, if he wanted to. I just think that he finds it common, and that he would rather walk. Not that he can. Just that he would.)

Anyway.

He does not crawl.

So I kind of thought I was losing my mind when I placed him in the dining room, turned around, and saw him reaching for Freckles's flip-flops in the kitchen, about to place them on a collision course with his open mouth. Ew.

Because he hadn't crawled.

But I have witnesses now.

On Saturday, we put him on the floor with some other people, including babies. I placed him next to the cabinet to start. Soon, he was in the middle of the floor, trying to scale a barstool. Our lovely guests confirmed my belief that he had miraculously moved without appearing to push himself forward. They agreed that it appeared to be almost magical. (At least, they were polite enough not to tell me I was being a complete idiot about it.)

Tomorrow, I'm going to call the Pope and report it as a miracle.

I'm hoping they have some sort of free prize for that, like maybe a year's dispensation from guilt.

Or something.