The kid still aint crawling. He isn't scooting either. He isn't pulling himself around or pushing or wiggling or gliding. No. Instead he has taken the road less traveled. The road less comfortable, less socially acceptable, the road less upright and unpredictable: the road via rolling.
He wants a toy? He flops on his chest and rolls over to get to it. He wants mommy? He's a rolling to her. Cooper the dog? Rolling. Cheerios? Rolling. His bouncy car with three radio stations, stick shift (real men drive manual) and flashing blinkers? Rolling.
It's kind of odd and I'm wondering if this, perhaps like the separation tantrums and the only eating avocado is a sneak peek into a future bright with rebellion and anti-ness. Next it's tattoos, piercings and mosh-pits. FINALLY, someone I can relate to.
It is true that nobody walks in L.A. And we don't crawl either. We don't scoot or glide or meander. We don't do anything the normal way, the proper way, the by-the-book way. Aha! But we roll. We sooooo totally roll.
*Photo found when googling "babies who roll." Awesome.