Crawling! A Milestone Alert From Harry

Me and the Handsome Baby playing in the living room while my parents cooked an oddly proportioned dinner-- tiny little weird chickens, itty bitty cabbages, mini potatoes, and a petite cake. Why do they want to eat baby things? Should I be worried? They have been feeding me a lot lately... Gretel? Don't get in the oven, Gretel. Whatever you do-- stop eating the house! But I digress. About my milestone.

Finally. I can finally go where I want when I want. I am my own man.

It's probably not 100% accurate to say that I am crawling-- more like creeping. The point is, I can move in a straight line. No more rolling around in smaller and smaller circles to get something in front of me. No siree, now I go right to the jar of Vaseline, the bottle of Little Noses, the can of Behold (which is generic Pledge, since my parents are too cheap to buy the real thing. $1.79 is just too dear, huh guys?), the cup of Starbucks coffee. We only want what we can't have, right?

Here I am at my Dad's state speech tournament. I was so tired that I fell asleep mid bite, and I usually love bananas. In case you're wondering, the UW team got 2nd-- way to go, guys!


Here I am with my Mom, who was all dressed up because she did some public speaking seminar thing for some company or something. Come home and bring me my milk, lady-- that's what I say.

My Dad is so freakin funny, man.


Yep. I'm crawling. Or scooting or screeping. However you describe it, I am moving toward my goal IN A STRAIGHT LINE, not a circle. So much more convenient.

My parents said they had a dog who used to make a face like that.

Ever since my parents lowered my crib matress, I can't quite fit underneath it, but I would really like to. By the way, ask them how much they love thier IKEA furniture-- that'll make my Dad turn red and say the funny words.

Hmmm...Somebody seems to have let their babhy spend too much time on lying on the back of his head durning his formative weeks and months. Way to go, guys. T.U.M.M.Y T.I.M.E, you idiots.

Apparently I DO have to spell it out for you.

The rest is just me and the Handsome Baby thinking of ways to crawl the heck out of this palce before Mom and Dad decide that baby BABY would make a good dinner menu. I'm fattening, you idiots! Find a trimmer baby to eat.