So the Little Man is now a walker. He walks. Or, maybe, totters like a drunk is a more accurate description. But still! Walking! A crowning achievement.
Not only does he walk, but he must carry as he walks! Empty milk jugs filched from the recycling bag are the perrinneal favorite. Preferably two, one for each hand, but one milk jug and one detergent jug will do in a pinch. Or a ball. Or cup. Or anything pinched from the center of the table or the counter-top, which he can now reach (to his mother's acute dismay).
This walking thing has made for several amusing changes around the house.
When the Little Man escapes off Mommy and Daddy's bed after his morning bottle, I can see his little tow-head bobbing past the end of the bed as he goes from one adventure to the next instead of straining my ears to hear what he's gotten into. It reminds me of a hunting dog's tail flagging his position in the weeds. (The eyes in the back of your mother's head weren't eyes, they were ears. My hearing is getting so acute that I can tell exactly which toy has been thrown at the wall from what position in the room just from the sound it makes)
He's developed a new talent - he plays "fetch". He doesn't quite get rolling or throwing the ball back once a ball is thrown to him. Instead, he'll run after the ball, bring it back and hand it to you. Multiple times in a row. And we didn't even have to get a dog!
He's now on even mobility footing with the WWE wrestler at daycare. Look out, buddy, turnabout is fair play.
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