Six months and hopping!

Shall we buy half a birthday cake and light half a candle? The little one is half a year old!
How quickly the time’s gone. Last night, preparing his trip bag for Cavite, I rummaged through a plastic box looking for socks. I found out we had one box full of clothes he can’t fit into anymore. One whole box! I cried a little. It’s a sentimental thing. I’m sure other millions of moms have done the same, sob into tiny side-ties and blow their noses into onesies their babies have outgrown.

It’ll be worse when he’s a teenager with frat tattoos, hiding ammo in his boots. “Stand aside, mom, I’ll just blast this cute kitten into the nanosphere.” I’ll be reduced to scanning through his baby pictures, standing inside them in some swirling holographic home theater display whilst eating too much cake for my own

In the meantime, though, I’ll take my revenge early, and take as many embarrassingly goo-worthily cute pictures of him as I can.