I've posited before that it's a rough life when you're immobile. But then again, maybe it's not so difficult when mom straps you to her front and carries you around for endless hours.
So then the kid got himself some classic wheels. Seriously, I think eight children have taught themselves to walk using this thing. It is well loved & well used. He scoots himself across our wood-floor apartment, much to the chagrin of our unsuspecting toes.
I guess Sami, during one of his late night ruminating sessions, decided that it would be a little awkward to have mom carry him across the stage to collect his college diploma. And perhaps wheeling down the aisle to meet his bride might not be very proper either. So his little baby mind came up with a grand scheme: I will crawl. I will attempt to move my 20 pound self all on my own.
And crawl he did. Well, sort of. Crawling is probably too generous a word for what's actually going on with the little guy since it more resembles dragging and has yet to involve his knees, but he can get from Point A to Point B. And that, my friends, is really all that matter when you're a baby.
But of course, as any physical activity does, crawling takes its toll on a body, so resting is surely in order. And chewing on things. I read in Runner's World magazine that chewing helps stimulate carbohydrate reserves and replenishes energy stores. (OK, not really but that's what I tell Sam so he doesn't feel bad about taking a break.)
The thing about taking breaks, however, is that you often have unwelcome visitors attend to the drool that has collected on your face. And that's when the mama has to put her camera down and intervene because she knows just where that visitor's tongue has been.
So at the end of the day, our little crawler is one step (yes, pun very much intended) to forsaking both his wheels and his mama. And that most certainly is deserving of a snuggly night's sleep.