Pink Cheeks on the Go

For the longest time, Zoe seemed perfectly content to lay on her back and look up in the world in pink-cheeked splendor. Whenever she had tummy time, she soon learned, all she had to do was let out a few frustrated squawks and her gallant big brother came running. "MOM, SHE NEEDS TO TURN OVER!" he shouted and flopped her over with a thump and wince from all in viewing range. Smiling wickedly to herself, and probably inwardly twisting the threads wrapped around her pinkie finger, Zoe gurgled a pleasant thanks and Jed trotted off to continue his business of destruction. The end result of this Stanfill Man Adoration (which was not entirely limited to the younger set. Dad and Grandpa Stanfill were just as ridiculously willing to perform her rolling duties for her.) was that Zoe didn't really roll over much. Maybe like five times since her first roll in, oh, October.

Over Christmas she kindly indulged us a few times, but she still showed little or no interest. As cousin Jude started to "steam-roll" (his mom's term) around the house, Zoe continued to fulfill all her own mobility needs via male slavery. Last Monday, however, it all changed. I set her down on her tummy in the living room and came back to find her... by the front door? I chastised Jed for dragging her around, which he acknowledged with the barest of glances. The next morning, I set her down right next to the kitchen where I could keep an eye on her. Soon lost in my Radiolab-podcast-induced cleaning reverie, I stopped paying close attention. I ran downstairs to grab a few things. When I came back, I found her spot curiously bare. Where was she? I cast a glance around. Jed was still quietly muttering to himself over his blocks in the living room, right were I'd left him. Where was she?

Here's where I found her: