Avery can roll over on her own. Right now she can get to the point where she flips over onto her chest, but one arm remains pinned under her, just like when Lynnette took that ill-fated spill while trying to recapture Abby. Maybe it’s genetic. I don’t know.
Honestly, though, Avery looks more like me than Lynnette. She just lays there on her back grumbling about something or other, then jerks her body and uses her head to push herself over. This is exactly what I think I look like at night while I’m tossing and turning in bed. Two nights ago I flopped over to my left and one of my hands smacked Lynnette in the face. Half-asleep, I apologized profusely – “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” – like this raccoon. Well, last night Lynnette got her revenge. I heard some noise and it brought me out of my sleep. I opened my eyes and saw black mass hanging in the air near the bed. My eyes took some time to adjust and what I saw was a figure standing still and silent next to the bed, framed by the light of the baby monitor. It was right out of The Ring. I made some non-masculine noises. Lynnette turned her head to face me. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You scared the hell out of me,” I said. She laughed. “I’m just watching them on the monitor,” she said. But I’ve digressed.
Now that Avery can flip over on her tummy, it’s only a matter of time before she starts crawling. This careless, blissful, babyproof-proof existence we’ve lived will expire. Soon, very soon, I will have to erect that bane of my existence – the baby gate – at the top of the stairs. We’ll have to affix plastic door locks and foam pads to everything in the house. Get ready for adventure time, kids.