Six months. Half a year.
Time is cruel, people. But, as a good friend pointed out to me today - it's all wonderful, and each age/stage gets better and better. Well, mostly better.
Because someone kept forgetting to schedule a six-month well baby check-up... Someone won't be having their six-month well baby check-up until he's almost seven months old. Oops.
He did see the doctor recently so I can report that he weighs 15 lbs 12 oz. I think a majority of that is in his cheeks, tummy, and thunderous thunder thighs.
I can't say enough about my little love. He certainly has his moments with teething, but overall he's just happy as can be and so fun to be around. No wonder I have such a hard time leaving him every day.
He's still rocking two teeth on the bottom - but I think a third is not far behind. He's over turning circles and scooting on his tummy and in full on mobile-mode. He scoot-crawls and follows me into the kitchen and down the hallway like it's no big deal. The little daredevil also tries his hand at yoga (downward dog), and gets up on his tip toes when in the crawling position. The little rascal is still unsure about baby food, but sure loves his lovey and his special "Hammy Cammy" song.
On Monday afternoon I left him playing with a flip-flop on the edge of the living room and kitchen. I quickly went to use the bathroom and came back just in the nick of time to see he had moved into the kitchen and pulled the (full) doggy water bowl all over himself (and all over the floor). His arms were stretched out far enough so the water missed his face, but this poor baby was soaked. Soaked, I tell ya. And he was NOT happy. But I thought it was hysterical and was laughing quite hard as I scooped him up. I know - mean mama.
Happy half birthday, my sweet, sweet, boy.