Scotty M has become mobile over the past week. We call it crawling, but it’s not, really. It’s more of a low scuffling across the floor, as if barbed wire and bullets were a foot above his head.
Nonetheless, it does serve to get him where he wants to be–under the living room coffee table in this instance. The white mark on the table below Scotty’s chin is where he gnawed the varnish off last week. It didn’t seem to do him any harm. There’s also a lovely view of green foam rubber we jammed into couch behind him to keep the cushions from sagging in the middle.
His newfound movement worries the Sainted Wife. When Ngnat was born we lived in an easily baby-gated townhouse. Where we are now has a much more open floor plan, so there aren?t any narrow, easily blocked off areas we can confine Scotty in. Ngnat is of some help in corralling him, but that it doesn’t really balance out the fact that she’s also the main source of small, easily swallowed carpet objects; barrettes, candy hearts, Barbie shoes, pennies, crayon ends, .22 cases–the normal possessions of a three-year-old female.
Scotty’s mobility does have its advantages. If he’s across the room and I want him nearer, all I need do is to place the television remote on the carpet at my feet. Two-three minutes later, there he is, desperately trying to gnaw off the volume control. He also valiantly attempts to follow Ngnat around, usually because she has decided that whatever toy holds his interest at the moment is crying out for her to play with it on the other side of the room. He doesn’t protest in the least when she takes it from him, just starts patiently dragging himself, elbow by elbow, towards her and the toy of the moment. If he’s lucky, Ngnat’s forgotten about it by the time he gets there. If he’s not, then she stands up and moves toy and self to another location, and Scotty begins the slow drag anew.
I watched that glacial gavotte go three rounds earlier today. It would gone another at least, but I made the mistake of describing the floor action to the wife, who came into the room and parted Ngnat from the toy in question, putting a stop to all the fun.
I was accused of being heartless for letting my smallest labor in vain for such a long period. My pleas of “he needs the practice” fell on deaf ears.
I’ll know whom to blame if the boy never learns to crawl right.
