Tomorrow you are seven months old.
(Does it get any sweeter than that face?)
And did a lot of hanging out with this girl:
You learned to sit up:
And are loving playing with your sister:
And as awesome as it is to see you gain more independence, and as much as I thought things were on their way to getting easier around here...
I've got to be honest. Life seems to be getting the better of me. For that, and for making the mistake of taking you on a night flight with the expectation you would sleep, I'm sorry. I'm also sorry to all the passengers on US Airways flight 55 from Phoenix last Sunday night. You know who you are.
Other than that, you are still pretty much an 11 on an awesome scale of 1-10. (You would be a 12 if you'd quit waking up twice a night, you stinker.) You smile and laugh constantly, you enjoy sucking on your toes and watching your Dad make faces at you, and you are happy to be in anyone's arms, as long as they're paying you some attention.
Which isn't hard. Because you're ridiculously (and I mean ridiculously) cute.
This New Year, I did something I almost never do: I made some resolutions. Some are easier than others, like drinking more water and brushing my hair on a daily basis. But the harder ones, the ones that are probably most important, involve you. To stop counting down the days until you can walk. To stop complaining incessantly about how tired I am (many of you reading this will be thankful for that resolution, eh?). To enjoy your babyhood, because it's passing by so. damn. quickly.
And if there is one thing a woman in her thirties knows, it's that she'll never get that time back. So happy seventh month to my sweet little angel, who will be wonderful when he sleeps through the night, but is also wonderful now, right at this very second. And always.