When I told my mother-in-law two months ago that the Burt Squirt would be crawling by the next time she visited, I didn’t think he’d take me quite at my word. My mother-in-law came today, and the Burt Squirt crawled for the first time yesterday.

Hopefully this isn’t an insight into his future study habits, but if it is, I blame his father. I always finished my school projects at least a week before their due dates, while Mr. Burt pulled all-nighters the eve before an exam. Who ever heard of a baby procrastinating?

Even if he doesn’t take after me, I’m still pleased as punch. In fact, I’m prouder of the Burt Squirt for crawling than I’ve ever been of anyone’s achievements, my own included, though I can’t pinpoint the difference here.

One mommy friend suggested it’s that our children are a part of us, so we have some stake in their accomplishments, or that our parenting skills are validated by our children meeting milestones, but those explanations seem a trifle self-centered. Then again, if I’m honest, I can’t deny that after eight and a half months–not counting the ten months of pregnancy–of having a baby need me for everything, I’m heaving sighs of relief that he’s gained independence. So my maternal pride isn’t as untainted as I’d like to believe. But independence, I think, is definitely at the center of whatever it is that tickles me so pink about the Burt Squirt crawling. It’s simply profound when your child does something all on his own.

Which was exactly how this milestone came about. Mr. Burt and I hadn’t been too hyper about the Burt Squirt being eight months old and not crawling. Occasionally we’d put him on his hands and knees to acclimate him to the idea, but we knew he’d crawl when he was ready. And when that moment arrived, I wasn’t even paying attention; I was puttering around the house, getting ready for my mother-in-law’s visit, and then glanced up to see the Burt Squirt up on all fours, lunging out with one pudgy arm as a chubby knee scootched forward, carrying himself across all of two inches of carpet before he flopped down on his belly. He tried again–and again–all day long, and by the end of the night was doing this:

So he looks a bit like a drunken sailor baby…but he’s mine. And he is remarkable to me.

And I think he’ll be walking well before we see my mother-in-law again. Because if I teach the Burt Squirt anything, it’ll be that there’s no value in procrastination.