Last Friday while Addison was playing on the floor with her toys I sat down near her to eat my lunch.  As soon as she spotted the sandwich in my hand she started pulling herself towards it.  She was straining and grunting, but she was going to get that sandwich.  My sandwich was her Everest and she would conquer it.  She pulled with her hands and pushed with her toes until she crossed the room and grabbed my plate which I quickly moved to the table behind me.  Cruel?  Maybe.  But life is cruel.

Our girl is mobile.  This is great.  For who?  I’m not quite sure.  For Addison, I suppose.  Though she will realize someday that being carried around everywhere wasn’t such a bad gig.  Just as I’m certain she will eventually realize that one should never voluntarily rise before the sun.  For now, she just can’t grasp either of these notions.  It’s not good news for me and my not-at-all-childproof house and it’s certainly no good for Oliver.  As soon as we put Addison on the floor she scans the room for the dog and then takes off after him.  She’s not that fast. He has time to getaway but he usually doesn’t make a move for safe ground until she’s right on top of him picking his toe nails and pulling his ears.  Each time she reaches him he looks at me like, “Do you plan on doing something about this?” He’s been sleeping with one eye open.

Now that she’s got the army crawl down to a science – elbow over elbow, push off with the toes – and she realizes she can reach things that I ordinarily will not hand to her, she wants nothing to do with her toys.  She will not crawl to me or to Scott…just to the dog.  I leave a trail of toys scattered around the room and she won’t crawl to them either.  She wants the cable box or my magazine or the cell phone chargers.  She’s traversing whole rooms in search of anything that looks electronic or dangerous.  It’s going to be a long summer of picking dog hair from between her fingers.

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