Dear August,
You know, I love you. The greatest moments of my day are the ones when you stop what you're doing, look at me and give me that adorable little grin. It's like you're saying, 'You know what, Ma? You're all right.' I love those smiles. I love almost everything about you.
There is, however, something I'm not so fond of, and this is your official warning to take note and change your ways before I have to take actions into my own hands.
STOP GROWING UP.
You hear me, little dude? Stop it. Just stop it. No, seriously... stop it. You're trotting around the house on your hands and knees, sitting up on your knees and reaching for things, sitting on your bottom and looking at me like, 'Yeah, I sit. I'm big. What of it?' You're outgrowing clothes and car seats. You like toys with buttons that make noise. What happened to the day I could give you a sock and you'd be entertained for hours? Huh? You chase the cat around until she's madder than a hornet. Wasn't it just yesterday when you didn't pay attention to her at all?
You're almost six months old. How did that happen? Where did the little guy in the NICU go, the one I thought would never get to come home? You're getting so big, so fast.
Today, I baby-proof the house from your curious hands and mouth. Tomorrow, I'll be sending you off to school. Next week, you'll be graduating college. Next month, I'll be watching you say your vows to a beautiful woman you'll have been raised to love fully and unconditionally. Next year, I'll be... oh, goodness, no... a GRANDMOTHER.
Please, buddy, slow it down. I don't want you to stop being my baby.
I'm not joking. Stop grinning at me.
Seriously, stop!
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