six.

I'm not entirely sure how this is possible. It seems like only yesterday that I was aghast at his being two weeks old, and now? Now my little man is six months old.

Six months.

Really.

I'm not even lying.

My little shrimp toast is halfway to his first birthday. As in: six months from now he'll be smashing his face into a cake and sporting some homemade garment advertising his age. Pureed sweet potatoes will be a thing of the past by then, but for now he thinks they are the absolute penultimate of human experience.

So, here's to my little sweet potato eating string bean of a boy. I hope he always, always loves simple things like sweet potatoes and the big blue sky and his mama smiling at him. I'm pretty sure I'll always love smiling at him, and I'm absolutely sure I'll always melt when he smiles back at me.