Mr. Man is getting more mobile every day. He still HATES crawling with the burning passion of four emerging molars. He will only crawl for the shortest possible distance it takes to get to something to pull up on. But he does do it, on his hands and knees like a friggin' pro...I am pretty sure he only grudgingly started 'real' crawling because he realized it saves him a split second, in comparison to army crawling, when pulling himself up to standing.*
"Life's too short to spend it crawling" ~ Mr. Man
*Note: I started this post before the weekend. Over the weekend, Mr. Man has decided that crawling can be faster than cruising (you know, if there isn't a conveniently placed piece of furniture and your options are limited to the wall or the floor), plus you can get into more things and find teeny tiny rocks that you can try to eat before mom stops you, so it's something we do now. Sometimes. Obviously walking would be better.
Instead of crawling, he circumnavigates the room using furniture, the wall, the dog, and anything else that will hold his weight. He has also learned that he can push certain furniture around and in our home you can regularly find a baby, grin stretching ear to ear, little legs pumping as fast as possible, zooming around on poufs and ottomans. The only thing that makes him happier is when mama or dada let him hold their fingers so he can walk fully erect. And by walk I mean sprint. He LOVES running. His whole face lights up, his little tongue pokes out of of his giant smile and he produces a barking laugh as he careens around the room like a possessed puppet hanging from our fingers.
"Life's too short to toddle if you can run at breakneck speed" ~ Mr. Man
Mr. Man also stands. On his own. Without support.
"I do what I want" ~ Mr. Man
Of course, R and I are watching all this with a mixture of pride, fascination, and terror. It looks like he will break free of the steadying support of furniture any day now and then, and then...[insert image of whatever you love being smashed to smithereens right here]
As anyone who has spent time around a baby this age knows, there are so many failed attempts at independent mobility. Mr. Man is currently sporting four separate facial bruises and a scratch. It looks like we have been beating him with sticks. In part, this is because every vertical surface is approached with confidence that it is stable and can bear his weight. You know, like that paper bag and that canvas bin and that book that happens to be standing up. So....that doesn't always end well (see aforementioned bruises).
Between his own exuberance, shoddy balance, and his parents' slow reaction times, Mr. Man has recently resembled a failed Olympic floor routine. There have been several missed landings (unless you count his face). There have been bloodied lips, goose eggs, cries of MAMAMAmaamamamaa, and great big crocodile tears. But he recovers much faster than I do. A quick cuddle and then he's off again, leaving his mama sitting astounded on the floor behind him.
"Get used to it mom" ~ Mr. Man