Despite our best efforts, Liza has learned to crawl.
Oh, we did all the things concerned and lazy parents do to keep their kid in one place. We dressed her in long pants and full-length onesies that made her knees slip on the wood floor. We held her. We showed her the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration scare video “Blood Runs Red on the Carpetway”. Nothing worked.
This marks the change from “Liza’s playing in the kitchen” to “I swear, she was right here a second ago.” Her danger zone has gone mobile.
The danger zone, for you non-parents, is the invisible area around a kid marking their reach. You have to keep dangerous things, like knives, bare wires that spark, and more than three ounces of any given liquid; and things she might eat or destroy, like books, pens, or my toes, out of the zone or else. Babies explore the world by pushing, shoving, eating, and generally destroying everything they can reach with their T. rex-like arms.
Last night Misty and I sat on the floor with Liza. I whistled at her and patted the floor. She raised up on her hands, butt in the air, and stomped towards me like a tiny bulldog with ague. She may be shaky, but she’s mobile.
God help us all.