Lane Helen Crosby

Well, it's true. I'm walking. I've been sort of stumbling around since I was 8 months, 1 week. My mom calls my dad the "Walking Nazi" because he likes to make me walk. A lot. At first I would cling to walls and "make the rounds" (literally, I would encircle the entire inside of the house -- sofa, hallway, bathroom door, around dining table, past back door, in and around kitchen cabinets, back out into living room, into my bedroom, past my crib, changing table, guest bed and back out into the living room to the same sofa I began on). Then my dad "encouraged" me to leave the safety of the sofa or ottoman and walk to him or my mom. I did 3-4 steps at first, then 9-10. Now I leave the safety of the sofa on my own and walk to the likes of my mom's leg or the dining table leg or maybe even Hank, the beagle. During time spent at SEA-TAC recently, I took more than 50 steps at once all by myself, sometimes pausing, turning and changing direction. But I still don't have any teeth. Go figure.