Today he licked the bathroom floor, wiggled himself halfway under the bed and tried to hump the toilet, all in the space of about twenty minutes ... while screeching joyfully at the top of his lungs. He's not technically crawling yet, but he's almost crawling, and he's devised a way to get where he wants to go: he gets up on all fours and rocks back and forth faster and faster until his forward momentum shoots him forward a few feet. He usually lands on his face, which makes him laugh. (Not to worry - he has plenty of cheek fat to absorb the impact.) Rex is one crazy baby. He prefers to operate in the nude.
The good news is that his antics have made him interesting to Veronica, whose favorite game is to sit on top of Rex. She tries to ride him like a horse. He doesn't seem to mind, but he does twist around so that he can grab a handful of her hair when she tackles him. It's his only defense, and it works: the harder she pulls away, the more forcefully he holds on, giggling the whole time. I don't have to say a word, although the dog probably has an opinion on their wrestling matches. The other day Rex tried to eat one of Sanchi's paws, and there I drew the line. It was disgusting. The bathroom floor is one thing, but the dog? Verboten.
I hate to stereotype, but Veronica never did anything remotely disgusting when she was Rex's age, and she could have. She got the same amount of naked time, crawled at about the same age, was exposed to the same toys and furniture layout, the same parenting (more or less). Same dog, too. She never tried to jump out of her high chair or bang on stuff. She was civilized and calculating; she had grace and a certain elegance to her cavorting. Don't get me wrong - she was a baby, and did typical baby stuff, but she did it with finesse. She's still like that. If Rex actually does let her ride him at some point, she'll ride sidesaddle wearing a flouncy hat.