|Scoot softly and carry a big stick|
In case you haven't seen him lately, Elijah is a scooter. Not a crawler, a creeper, or a roller (although he can do some of those things, with varying degrees of success and/or prompting). And yes, he is 13 months old and no, he is not walking. Before you tell me not worry, I will tell you first that I am not. Worrying that is. I'm talking to you, random security guard at the National Portrait Gallery.
No, Elijah is a scooter, and I never get tired of the look on people's faces when they see it for the first time. He's fast, too. In fact, he's been know to give Kurt a run for his Cheerios in a father-son scoot race (see below).
But why scoot? It could just be that Elijah scoots to the beat of his own drum, but I also have some theories. First, we have hardwood floors. Not so good for the knees. Second, it makes it easier to look at stuff without twisting your neck. Third, he has that big ol' cloth diaper for lots of extra padding on his cute little bum.
Really, though, it's all about the sticks. Unsharpened pencils, spoons, maracas, toy hammers, and of course, when we're outside (or when he brings them inside), sticks of all shapes and sizes. It would be hard to hold one of those in your hand while crawling, and I imagine it would be nigh on impossible to hold one in each hand, as Elijah is wont to do.