And my Dad thinks I'm spoiling him by picking him up when he cries...

Last week Sam and I headed down to DC to visit my parents. It was a nice little break. Sam had an expanse of carpet on which to crawl and a large stash of toys to ignore while chewing on my flip flops. Now that we are home Sam no longer wants anything to do with any sort of containment. He has tasted unincumbered freedom and there is no going back.

And there was also one of these!



oh, and one of these!





Sam is doing his best to adjust to a world without large plastic bouncy things and his own private pool. I guess he's doing as well as one can expect. He doesn't seem to mind lack of plush carpeting as the floor seems to be the only place he wants to be.

I just feel bad that the floor is so hard and hairy. Ugh the dog hair. It's really a problem. I do the best I can with sweeping. I would vacuum more often, but Sam's surprised wide eyes quickly devolve into the scared cry. You know, the high pitch, face squinched, eyebrow furrowed, pleading to make it stop cry. And I don't have the stomach for it.

And our floor space is pretty small. That's really the trouble. At my parents he could crawl and crawl and get pretty far before there was any trouble. Here he has about 3 feet before hitting chairs and tables and TV stands. And I don't know if I've mentioned it before, he is not really a sit on the floor kinda baby. He is not content to plop down in one place and play. So we are spending much of our days hunched over, redirecting Sams exploration and removing dog hair from his pants.

Of course...he's not always wearing pants.