Today, you are six months old. It feels like only yesterday, you were brand-new. I know that I will be telling you this until the day that I die.
You are officially at the stage where every day is more fun than the last. Staring at the leaves, sitting up, staring at your food with suspicion before trying to eat the entire avocado slice/spoonful of carrots in one swoop, rewarding Dad (but generally only Dad) with giggles at the end of the day, sucking on your own toes like some sort of solo-artist infant Cirque du Soleil act.
You are a lad of strong opinions. You either love things to the point where you are so happy it nearly hurts to watch your radiant joy, or you are upset beyond reason. You have learned how to
lick faces give kisses and you attempt to do it often.
Every day that passes is the last day that you will ever be this small, so I look forward to and am cherishing your late afternoon catnaps on my chest because I know that so much sooner than later you will not want to do this anymore. The last 182 days have been the most important work of my life and we are only just getting started.
You are the nicest boy. My best creation. My favorite only son.