Ladies and Gentlemen we're about to have a crawler.
Lea is embarking on her 7th month in the world and while her valiant push-up attempts are just shy of welcoming mobility, she has certainly decided that she's sat still for long enough. It's frustrating to be a baby and achieve a sense of awareness regarding the playground of chair legs to chew, electrical outlets to prod and meaningless decor to swat at, all long before your motor skills can actually transport you through that wonderland of mischief. (As you can tell mom is thrilled about the new prospect of baby proofing.) Soon enough she will master the army crawl or the one-legged zombie scoot or some other version of the awkward beginner's crawl.
In the meantime I look around our little cubbie of a living room at the floor that I vacuumed yesterday. I've always been thankful for our cammo-tan rug and its ability to disguise disgust for artistic "dimension." But now I watch my daughter paw at flakes of dried dirt on the floor and I find myself pulling feathers and hair out of her curious mouth. I can't help but cringe and lunge for the vacuum. It will inevitably become a daily duty and sometimes a second run over will be necessary. All in a day's work.. maybe I'll squeeze it in while I brush my teeth in the morning.
Our home is a dwelling of active adventurists, in and out of the front door all the time. Additionally the lion king of this castle comes equipped with a bike that sleeps indoors and work boots that sprinkle wood chips and dirt debris like fairy dust. It's a hard transition to make and I've never been one to require it on my own accord but I'm afraid this may soon become a shoe-free zone. I think I'll have to make a custom welcome sign:
"Please remove your shoes before the baby eats their trail mix."
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