Zane sporting his squeakers on a practice walk. He has a few things that he uses as walkers, the funniest one being his piano, as if he’s an 80’s synth dude strutting around the stage with a mop of 80’s hair. The current challenge with all of the walkers is turning and backing up, but he’s a troubleshooter and it’s only a matter of time.
Perhaps unsure of his future as a synth player Zane has been practicing sword swallowing. Since his parents won’t give him an actual sword he’s resorted to four inch long teething biscuits, forcing them until the gag reflex kicks in and then acting surprised: who knew that would happen? Like spotting him on the stairs I feel a little uncomfortable in my role as safety guy, wishing this was one of those DNA embedded bits of wisdom instead of learning it through trial and error.
Meanwhile, back at the crib, we have much standing and walking and pounding of the cup on the bars when rations are late or hugs are needed. He hasn’t tried crawling out yet. Last night I caught him trying to do a header off the back of the couch, so the Halstead self-destructive gene is alive and well and it’s only a matter of time before he’s crib diving.