Oh God, Zoey is trying to crawl.
I did the only thing I could think of when I saw her starting the full belly shuffle: Swooped her up and swaddled her, like she’s a two-day-old. It was the only way to stop this nonsense. Luckily, there’s Marc and he seems to understand that with a mother like me, he is Zo’s only salvation. He laid with her in bed and played the Beach Boys on his phone. I’m not sure why she was comforted. She seems a-OK with greater movement. Me on the other hand, I am neurotically predicting that crawling will only lead to boys and hot pants and gyration-inducing music. (God, I feel like you know me pretty well and that still, my inner baptist minister from the 50’s probably surprised you…) So you and me, we’re going to need to reach some sort of deal. As Zo probably does need to learn things like crawling and talking and maybe even holding a cup with her own two hands, it would be great help and consolation if you could make it be as if dating before the age of 25, Abercrombie, and Rihanna never were.
If I cannot have my way with this then you will need to make possible a teenage-sized swaddle.