following the leader

This one is for all you grandparents whom, I flatter myself, actually care about the fact that Enoch can crawl and use his munchkin little arms and legs to get him around. At first I fancied that his crawling was a gift to me--that he would now prefer crawling/exploring to being carried in my arms all day as I try to make dinner (facebook), fold clothes (read novels), and sweep the hardwoods (eat chocolate). Instead, all his crawling has meant is that he now can follow me into every room of the house and ask for me to pick him up. Doh!