So, it's official: Michael is a crawler. He hasn't quite perfected the art of it yet. In fact, he can only go a few "steps" before collapsing back on to his tummy. But, he picks himself up and keeps going. And he sure does get around.
He actually first began to figure it out on Thursday evening, when I saw him really get going a couple of times. Today, however, was the first day that he gave the effort his full attention, and kept at it for an extended period of time.
I will definitely need to be stepping up the frequency with which I vacuum, because I shudder to think how much lint and detritus he's ingesting as he rambles across the living room rug, sticking his hands in his mouth with every stop. It's like he's on a mission to map out the landscape by taste. Perhaps he's mentally dividing the space into zones: northwest corner is heavy on dust and dirt, northeast, cat fur; southeast, old, dry food crumbs; and southwest, Mommy's hair (of which there is plenty, due to my continuing postpartum loss). Ick.
In the meantime, Abby continues to amuse and amaze. Just the other day, as I was struggling to get a sneeze out, she attempted to interpret the strange faces I was making and finally said to me, "Mommy very, very sad," with a note of concern in her voice. When I repeated this story to Tom, he fake-cried for Abby to get a reaction out of her. She immediately picked up on the game and declared, (this time, with a touch of amusement), "Daddy very, very sad." It's become a bit of a routine between the two of them, now.
She didn't get the opportunity to wear her new shoes today, but I did get an opportunity to photograph them.
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for:
As Abby would say, "So pretty!" (For now, while they're still brand-new, anyway.)