Crawling Paul

Paul is an official crawler. He stayed in the "Crawlers" nursery Wednesday night and held his own quite well against the older, but not too much bigger, little boys on that side. We've already had our share of crashes, but Paul isn't one to sit and pout about banging his head on the floor. He'll cry initially but squirm to get down when I pick him up to assure him everything is okay. Apparently the danger of the floor is worth braving for the sheer freedom it is to roam around on it.

We're having a great time getting to know this little guy. His favorite pastimes include eating paper and sitting on Daddy's shoulders. We encourage the latter, but he has to sneak in order to indulge in the former. There were a couple of no-nos under a table in the study which I blocked off with a chair. As I sat glibly reconciling financial information, naively assuming that my son was playing with something normal, like a toy, I heard a high-pitched cry indicating that Paul was in need of immediate assistance. I turned around to discover that he had gotten stuck on the lower rungs of the chair in his attempt to investigate said no-nos and was suspended between earth and sky with his knees about half an inch off the ground. If I could only make his toys seem like something he wasn't supposed to have. . .