six months

On the 28th, my muffin turned six months old. In culinary terms and scope, this would make her now more of a layer cake. Sliced so that you can see all her delicate layers (adorable, frustrating, crying, laughing, crying while laughing, squealing, jumping, drooling, farting) and served on the most beautiful china plate. That will then break into 67 pieces right before I want to go to sleep. And we have no glue. Or any more plates.
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a full blown child

Who is this writhing monster, smacking her toothless jaws together to form the word "dada?" Not the bub I delivered into this world in September who snugged tight under my neck to sleep. This new wiggle machine has suddenly figured out there's more to this world than just my face, my boobs and a collection of soothers. Her hands are pretty much the greatest thing she's ever seen. She looks at them like they're leaving tracers; she's tripping on psychedelic titjuice.
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