I think its safe to say that my son is a monkey, or at least an acrobat-in-training. Or maybe he's some sort of strange monkey-acrobat hybrid.
The funny thing is, he can't walk yet. Or crawl. And yet he traverses the perimeter of his decently-sized crib in moments.
This is not the position my wife and I place him in when we lay him down for his rest. We lay him on his back, parallel to the long side of the crib. So how does this sedentary six-month old manage to make himself mobile? Well, we're not sure.
After my wife and I lay him down to rest, we have just enough time to turn the tv on or open a book before panicked cries echo down the hallway. We rush into his room, expecting to find him fallen out of his crib, or maybe being attacked by angry bees. Instead, we find him trapped in a corner of his crib, usually with his feet caught in the bars on one end and his head caught in the other. We pick him up, wipe away his tears, and lay him back down with admonitions to get some sleep. We close the door, hoping that this time, this time, he'll fall asleep. No sooner do we put our feet up to relax when the familiar cries of our cornered monkey fill the house.
Lather, rinse, repeat, until he's too exhausted to try again and passes out from all of the exertion. Heather and I would find it all funny if we had any energy left after running to his room more times than we can count. We just take pictures of him... to laugh at later.
