I just can’t stop him. No matter what I do to deter it, Squatch just keeps getting older and bigger, turning from a baby into a little boy.
That rolling over thing? Conquered. A few months late, but as of a couple weeks ago, he’s flopping back-to-front, front-to-back, and spinning around in circles like Curly Howard:
On top of that, his hair’s starting to grow in, he’ll likely have teeth popping through any day now, and then—GREAT MERCIFUL CRAP—there’s this:
I’m doomed, I tells ya. Doomed. This doesn’t even show the best of it, where his knees jump up to his hands. He hasn’t figured out how to use his arms yet, but once he does, doomed.
What he has figured out, though, is moving backwards. He can inch his way across the floor, ass-first, sweeping up all the dog hair in the carpet along his path. I’m raising a regular rocket surgeon over here.