So she's not crawling...but she does move, and pretty fast - if you consider having to look for her if I've left her long enough to attend to bathroom matters "FAST." I do. She can also make it to the end of the bed in seconds flat...and really so can I, but she goes for it. Over. And Over. And Over again. Obviously she's never experienced a fall. And with all her noisy, colorful, plush, genius-inducing, chewable, shakable, smackable, toys - she only wants 3 things. A phone. A remote. A wire connected to the wall. Oh and occasionally she'll go for a shoe if that's the only really gross thing around. She can make it around a couch, under a table, and behind a toilet before you can say Hepatitis C three times fast. "But how does she do this?" you ask. "Is she already walking? Running? Pirouetting?" I can see how one would assume this from a ball of pure genius such as mine, but no. She does what I like to refer to as the "wounded soldier." She drags herself around like she's starring in the first 10 minutes of Saving Private Ryan. You would think she's avoiding a grenade instead of pursuing her doll (yes, she has a doll now, I didn't buy it, but I did feel compelled to name it Baby Gloria - as in Steinem. The next doll, because I know there will be one, will be deemed Baby Betty unless Charlotte names it one of her favorite words. "Nng, Dadada, or Pbbttthhh")
So the wounded soldier is now dramatically dragging herself through her own roving battle, but I know she'll either start doing it conventionally soon or skip right to walking so I documented the body-dragging that I will one day look upon fondly. Unless I remember every stray hair I had to pick off the front of her clothes...cruel trick of nature that babies start moving all over the ground roughly around the time that your thick pregnancy hair is falling out in clumps that make you feel like you were targeted by those teen biotches from The Craft.
Anywho, here's the video.