Broken Promises

This past Friday, I changed Tyler's diaper on the living room floor. We've got a basket that we keep the essentials in. Diapers, wipes, hand sanitizer, lotion, and butt cream prepare us for all but the most gruesome of crime scenes. Upon completion of the diaper change, I lifted Tyler's legs, smacked his bottom, and informed him that I had indeed, "panked the booty", much to his delight. I then dumped the dirty dipe and washed my hands. When I walked back into the living room, Tyler had rolled over -which he is a regular pro at now - and was chewing on one of his socks. I don't know why Tyler loves to rip his socks off. He loves to grab them with his hands and just start yanking away at them. And I'm even more confused on how he is able to kick them off without using his hands at all.

A few moments later, I was opening up some files on my laptop to print off before I hit the road for work. While I was doing this, Tyler was reaching for the diaper basket. I know this because when I did eventually look down at him, he was dumping the basket over. In the seconds that it took for me to set my laptop down and get up, Tyler was able to grab a diaper and start chewing on it. *sigh* I put everything back into the emergency readiness basket and sat it back on the floor. But this time, I set it about two feet away from Tyler. I looked at him and said, "There, if you can get to it now, you can have it."

I learned something valuable from that statement. Do not absently make offers to a child, ever.

I didn't expect Tyler to say - nonverbally, of course - "ok daddy, watch this." No, I didn't hear him say it, but I should have seen it in his eyes. I was sitting again, trying to finish up on the laptop so I could get on the road, when Sarah says, "Joe, look at your son."

Again, I look down to see what the little troublemaker is up to. Tyler was much closer to the basket, and he was stretching as much as he could, trying to reach it. His little fingertips were just barely touching the basket. Then, I watch as he digs his foot into the carpet and pushes himself closer. Close enough that he was able to grab the basket and knock it over again. Sarah informs me that if I had put the basket back where it belonged, Tyler never would have gotten to it. Thanks, Sarah. Any why Tyler would want the basket when he's got all kinds of awesome toys nearby is beyond the scope of my knowledge.

Tyler digs his foot into the ground and pushes himself forward

But the bigger question is, WHEN DID HE LEARN THIS!?!? The only thing I've ever seen him do that even resembled mobility was spin himself in a circle while lying on his belly. He would only ever spin in one direction, so I'd constantly quote Maury Ballstein, from Zoolander, "You got a lot of gifts, but hanging a louie just isn't one of them."

Among the many thoughts that swirled around my head that morning, three of them stuck out.

1) Why the heck hasn't Sarah told me about this development? When I asked her about this, she dismissively replied, "oh, I thought you knew." I had to remind myself a few times that spousal abuse is against the law.

2) Awesome! My baby can move!

3) My baby can move now? Oh s**t.

"Bittersweet" seems to be a huge understatement of the mixture of joy and sheer terror that I felt. Before Friday, whenever I placed Tyler on the floor and walked into another room, a promise was made. When I come back, Tyler will be right there. Just like your car keys or cell phone, Tyler will be in the last place you left him. Nobody ever told me that these promises came with an expiration date.

Tyler's Immobility Guaranteed Through December 5, 2008. Individual Results May Vary
(I swear this isn't photoshopped)

Friday was December 5th. Happy Birthday, Tim. Your grandson can army-crawl.