You know those mornings where the sheets seem extra soft, and the bed seems extra warm (especially compared to the air outside the bed, which seems extra cold) and it seems extra necessary to lie there a few extra minutes? I was having one of those mornings today, but I got up early, woke and fed and clothed the baby, fed and clothed myself, loaded us both into the car, drove 25 minutes across town, and then discovered the baby program at the Early Years Centre was cancelled for today. So. You know. Not the best start to the day, plus it left me with an entire day in which to figure out how to entertain Ellie on my own. Which is not an easy task, since she has recently become VERY CONCERNED for my safety every time I leave the room, or try to put her down for a nap, or even move a foot to the left. 

Apparently this is one of those things that happens when your baby turns 6 months old, as ours has, and while we’re on that subject, can you even BELIEVE it? Because I can’t. Six months! Six months. Everyone tells you that you just have to survive the first six weeks, and then everything gets better, and so that first six weeks seems … well, a little SLOW TO PASS at times … and then in the blink of an eye you are the proud owner of a Six Month Old Baby who laughs and pets the cats and makes a weird velociraptor sound when you put on her pajamas. She is an actual little person, and we made her! I would display her on the fridge like the world’s cutest art project, but we don’t have any magnets big enough.