He's crawling. For reals. One hand in front of the other and everything.
Additionally, upon arising from his nap a few afternoons ago, he greeted me--frog like--with feet underneath him and hands pulling up on the top bar of his crib.
Thus, this weekend's missions were a couple of safety to-do's--a gate for the top of the stairs, and changing the crib to it's lowered setting.
In other milestone-news, I had to tell him "no" for the first time this weekend, with disastrous results.
It wasn't really intentional. We were hanging out on the bed Sunday evening. He was playing, I was editing pictures on my laptop. He crawled over to check out what I was doing, and started banging on the keyboard.
I didn't say it harshly, but--in retrospect--it's probably the most strongly anyone's ever spoken to him in his short little life. His face did the slow melt from pout to trembling lip to inconsolable wail.
I think I did well. Because it was that time of night anyway, we started the bath, ba, and bedtime routine--with the screaming eventually subsiding to quiet sobs eventually subsiding to sleep.
And then I went downstairs and, all belle-like, made Sweet Husband pour me a drink to soothe my rattled nerves as we commiserated about how in the heck we're going to survive his teenage years....