First, you have been taking naps in the crib. All week. One day, you even took a 4.5 hour nap. The last 2 hours I thought maybe you were dead, but I was too afraid to check in on you because what if you WERE alive, and then I woke you up? Needless to say, the last few hours were spent with me just skittering around the house nervously, not accomplishing much. I couldn't really start anything, because surely, definitely, positively, you would wake up the minute I got to work on a time-intensive task. You are sneaky like that, whoever you are.
Second, you have been going to bed at night in your crib. Without a fuss. Which leaves me with hours to spend doing whatever I want to do. Which means I have been up until past midnight every day this week frolicking around the house verily drunk in a sweet splendor of Free Time.
Third, in a thrust of momentum as you attempted to grasp frantically at the US Weekly that I was desperately trying to get out of your reach, you took a few steps. Of course, I tried to replicate the moment with the camcorder, so now I have loads of cheesy footage with me waving a cheap tabloid at you in my lame attempts to lure you into performing your trick again. Do these steps even count? They didn't seem very purposeful.
Fourth, in my Frenzy of Filming you crawled over to the Ridiculous TV and turned it on - very much purposefully, in this case, I might add. Much to your delight. And, truthfully, much to my own delight. Well, at least for now, since I suspect the tide will soon turn on that cute little trick after the umpteenth time you have "performed" that particular Feat of Bravery (wanna really test your mettle? I Triple Dog Dare you to try it during Monday Night Football).
Whoever you are, beware - my baby's daddy is coming home on Saturday and then I shall have WITNESSES.