Six months. Ten and a half kilos. Two front teeth. And still a long way to go.
He's cuter, cuddlier, and smarter. Our only gripe is he's gotten so heavy that we get muscle and back aches when we carry him for an extended period of time... like, 3 minutes or more. Especially now that Seven hasn't had a yaya for the past month. We're seriously contemplating on making the weekly home massage service a twice-a-week treat. That, or we'd better find a yaya real soon.
Halfway to one, Seven! May you grow up to be not just a cute boy, but a good one.
Lord, I don't know which way I am going
Father to Seven. Prefers to be called "Pop" because Daddy is too sosyal, Papa can mean boyfriend / boy-toy or a ketchup, Tatay is too un-sosyal, and Popsie is just three letters too much. I don't like the cola because it's too sweet, but I esteem coach Gregg Popovich because he gets the job done. So Pop it is.