As of today, Kerrington is eight months old. She's been a prolific roller for months, turning and craning her body this way and that to arrive at her desired destination. In the last few weeks she's been getting closer to crawling by inch-worming her way across a room. She'd lift her body up onto her hands and knees, rock to gain momentum, and then lurch forward, advancing just slightly, ending up flat on her belly, and repeating the entire process: upward push, forward launch, flattened landing, repeat.
But in the last few days it has become official. We've got a crawler. Kerrington is a Baby Who Crawls.
Oh, she's still gangly. Legs and arms slip out from underneath her, causing her head to dip low as if she were bobbing for apples on our carpet. She gets to a wall and freezes, unable to move in reverse, and reverts to rolling, her familiar method of locomotion.
When Reese, our oldest, learned to crawl she, too, rocked on her hands and knees and then would propel herself backwards, growing increasingly frustrated that the toy she wanted was now farther away. Brooke, our middle child, learned to crawl quite early by reaching one arm forward and dragging her body behind her. She cradled her other arm into her chest like a wounded soldier and dragged herself along, rarely pushing up.
And now the baby of the bunch has joined the ranks of crawling children everywhere, already showing a penchant for heading directly toward the most dangerous object on the ground.
There's no stopping her now.