It’s 10:30 on a Monday morning, and on the floor beside me lies one chunky-thighed infant. He’s on his belly; it’s where he prefers to be, these days, and he snuffles excitedly as he reaches for the chime ball that is just out of his reach. Every now and then he manages to just touch it with his fingers–the action pushes the ball even further away. He doesn’t seem to be aware of this, though. He crows and sings to it as if coaxing it back closer to himself.
