Friday, August 12, 2011

Six months.

Today I made garlic bread with a spread that had partially hydrogenated soybean oil in it. I'm sad that it was so tasty.
Yesterday I ate at Texas Roadhouse. Don't ask me how many times I've been there this month.
And the day before that my little girl turned six months. SIX. MONTHS.

How did this:

turn into this:
She's already driving, for Pete's sake.

I hope you know that I'm joking. I hope you also know those are my husband's hands and not a massive growth on her thighs.

I'm getting a little sad as I order her convertible car seat. It's just another reminder of how quickly she's growing. Plus, I was building awesome arm muscles carrying her in and out of the car in the infant one.

Just look at how tall she is!

I've loved every stage. I loved her as a little bitty helpless infant who ate every 45 minutes. I loved her as a 3 month old learning how to giggle and who ate every 2.5 hours. I love her as a 6 month old who has decided she would like to relive her youth by, again, eating every 45 minutes (seriously, is there a 6 month growth spurt?)

I feel so honored to take care of this amazing little girl who already can light up a room with her smile and has a seriously great sense of humor. I look at her and I feel so lucky. I'm not going to lament for her newborn days or wish she would grow up faster and get past this "stage". I'm just enjoying the ride.

My only hope is that her life is incredibly full and that she is deliriously joyful.

And that she stays in footie pajamas a little longer.

No one can be upset when the little person who wakes them up 95 times a night is wearing footie pajamas.

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