Dear Mister Handsome,
This week you are eight months old. Let that sink in for a second. Eight months. That is a long time.
And yet, not so long at all. In the last month, you have mastered the art of sitting up,
Making grocery shopping much easier on your poor Mom's back. You have made clear your love of playtime:
But not so much nap time. And you are loving-- and I mean loving-- your sister:
And I don't blame you. She's hilarious.
Aside from our nights, which aren't so awesome, you continue to be over-the-top amazing. You smile and laugh with just about anyone. You have no problem hanging out on the floor with your toys or in the bouncer (well, for a little while, anyway), and eating pretty much anything I put in front of you. Your smile is so infectious that sometimes I feel like I've done my good deed for the day bringing you through the grocery store. Everyone is happier after seeing you.
You are changing so quickly. I can hardly remember you when you were like this:
But you were, just eight short months ago. Our lives have all changed so much, too, and only for the better. Because you make everything better.