Austin has been crawling for a few weeks now. At first, this was amazing. I was so excited and proud of him. I set up little crawl-courses for him in the living room and tempted him further distances with toys.
But now he crawls constantly.
All. The. Time.
When I put him down, he will immediately make a beeline, at lightening speed, toward the most dangerous, unhygienic thing in the room. Most especially, the edge of the bed.
On Friday, my second day at work after maternity, I was having a really tough afternoon. Someone did something really lovely for me and I got to see Austin an extra hour. But even that could not deter me from the depressing thought that I only had two days with him before I’d have to leave him again (sob!). So I, very maturely, got rat-ass drunk on a bottle and a half of really good wine. Yum!
Saturday morning, Dave took Austin into bed with us and let him watch a film while we snoozed.
When I’m hungover I don’t move – not at all. I lie still and wallow. But in my semi-conscious state I felt the baby crawl across my legs toward the edge of the bed.
I shot up, spring-like, with a proper yell. I grabbed the little creeper and pulled him into me to save him from falling. Super-Mom.
Until I heard Dave laughing so hard the bed shook. Then I felt fur. It was the dog.
Austin was sitting in daddy’s lap looking at me with his bunny hanging out of his mouth. Gizmo was half wiggling to get away and half pleased about getting any attention at all. Super-Eejit.
The morale of the story is, you cannot drink with a crawler. They will either fall off the edge of the bed or you will make a complete ass of yourself.
Anyone who wants to leave a similarly embarrassing story in the comments will receive the good karma of making me feel less stooopid!