Truman's been working on that all-important turn over for the past few days. When I lay him down on his back, he wiggles and arches and kicks and squirms, turning himself around like a spinner, scooting himself a foot or two in whatever direction his head happens to be pointing. He's no longer immobile, but he's not yet dangerous.
As Everett and I cheer him on, I'm not sure if I should be encouraging, even helping, him, or just letting him spin happily on his chunky little axis. We've had a good run in this immobile time. I don't know if either I or my house is ready for mobility.
