{six} months

It's taking some serious emotional strength tonight (and some wine) to write this post.  I have been putting it off because I don't want it to be so.  My LITTLE man is 6 months old.  

One half of a year old.  

178 days old.  

4,272 hours old.  

256,320 minutes old.  

How is it so?

How is it that a year ago we didn't even know what this little bean was?  We were eagerly awaiting January 18th to verify that we were in fact having a girl.  I was SURE we were having a girl. 

Now, here we are a family of 5.  Four boys, one girl.  And I couldn't imagine my life any other way.  

Graham baby has made life with 3 boys better than I could have ever imagined.  He is the peanut butter to our jelly.  He made me regret every moment that I cried when we found out there was something wrong  with him.  He is perfect in every way.  His imperfections make him even more perfect to me.  To us.  Everyday his crooked little smile makes me thankful that he was given to us.  

He WAS meant for us.

Yes, I am eagerly awaiting all these days we have with him.  Watching him grow.  Watching him become the little boy that he is going to be.  But I am also cherishing these moments.  The moments of middle of the night snuggling, breast feeding and never putting him down (and I wonder why he is not sitting up yet).  He will always be my baby because, I guess, this is it for us.  I have all the infant toys littering our living room because I can't bear to put any of it away.  I still gladly get up with him 3-4 times a night because he still needs me.  I am still squeezing him into size 2 diapers because he is not old enough to be in size 3.  Right?  Who cares that I am doing twice as much laundry as I could be because he pees through his clothes like 3 times a day.  

And food, well he hates it and that's fine with me.  Because really, he's not old enough to eat solids, right?
And naps, well, he doesn't like them either.  After all, he is number 3 and prefers to nap on the go.  The louder the better.
Teeth.  Apparently we don't do those either, cause we ain't got none.

Weighing in at 17 pounds 10 ounces he is my chunk-a-monk.
And he's 26.5 inches short.
We love every. single. ounce. of him.  

Unfortunately, with all the good comes the bad.  Little man got 4 shots, oral rotavirus and a prescription for Amoxicillin.  It appears he's got a little ear infection brewing.  Now he's sporting a 101.6 degree temperature and a mean whine.  But it's cool.  I'm loving the extra snuggles.

Here's to a very slow next 6 months.
Momma needs some time to recover from the first 6 going too fast.

We love you Baby G.