It's truly official - Colin is on a mission to move. While his style of movement can't quite be classified as crawling, he is one speedy scooter, having mastered the art of the army crawl.
The closest he has gotten to legit hands-and-knees crawling is a LOT of wiggling and rocking, which is mighty cute but doesn't get anyone anywhere.
Last night, David and I had finished feeding Colin dinner, and he was playing on the floor with a bunch of toys. We had spent the majority of the day keeping him away from Kenzie's bones and toys and food, switching between redirecting him to other interesting destinations (plastic cups! maracas! pot and wooden spoon! maracas!) and trying to teach him "no" - which just makes him laugh - no luck.
David was cleaning up, and I was running out to the car, and next thing you know, Colin scooted all the way to the dog bowl and toppled the whole thing on top of himself (thankfully it weighs a whopping 1.5 lbs, max - no injuries sustained) within a matter of seconds when David's back was turned. As you can imagine, Colin's tears start flowing out of sheer shock, and he is wailing in a sea of puppy kibble. We immediately rush over, calm him down, and all is right in the world within a few minutes....until we realize the new-found happiness is because Colin is merrily gumming a wee kibble of Kenzie's food. EW!
Of course, my hands swoops into his mouth immediately and snags it right out. The waterworks resume, because apparently dog food is awesome, and we are not, because we don't allow him to eat it. Ah, the joys of parenthood...