I am on the move. Prowling the floor like a jaguar through the jungle, I find myself stuck by the tv stand or against the leg of the coffee table. I am denied delicious treats of random wires, and I play with my spoon. Mom thinks she's tricked me into playing with a non-baby toy, but I'll tell you what a spoon is: delicious.
Mom and Dad keep talking about my PT and you know what that means: play time. Score. They're training me for the baby olympics. My right bicep might be low-tone, but my triceps?
Friends, Arnold is calling me for tips. Look at these skills:
Yesterday, I got another present from the parents: a Haba Walker Wagon. My ride is ridiculous. I can stand there all by myself. The wood is tasty too!