Well, he learned to crawl on Friday night, with Uncle B and Aunt M's help. They were both (posh, sophisticated NYCers that they are) down on their hands and knees bribing him with a DVD and elaborately demonstrating proper crawl technique.
It worked. Nothing in my house is safe, including me.
We've reached that interesting stage, too, where my baby is old enough that people are now giving me advice not just on how to care for him (much wanted and needed) but also how to raise him (also possibly needed but not wanted quite so much). My poor grandmothers, bless the dears, would be appalled at some of the hippie methods I have adopted in the raising department--so I don't spend a lot of time telling them that the baby sleeps in my bed. As does the cat, sometimes. And I let my baby "walk" if he wants to, even though they say it will give him bowed legs. Oh well.
Aside from the wee babby, not much going on this week. I was supposed to go up to VA and be present as someone's Confirmation sponsor, but I've been unable for a week to shake this really unpleasant and foreboding feeling about making the trip. This is unlike me. It isn't really that far, there are all these reasons to go, etc etc etc. But I don't feel peaceful about it. The family told me under no circumstances to feel obligated to make the trip if I was uncomfortable. I think I've decided pretty much not to go, but I have until tomorrow lunch to make a final decision. Never been so wishy-washy about things like this before. Heck, I traveled 18,000 miles last summer.
Still, never disobey the icky stomach feeling. It could save your life.