Titus is seven months old now.
Can you believe it? Because I can’t. He is becoming more and more of a little person every day, one with strong opinions, one who flirts with the girls at the next table over, one who is determined to put as many things as he can in his mouth all while he kick, kick, kicks his strong little legs.
He makes funny faces and squawks at us and has started blowing raspberries when he’s frustrated. He yells, “MAMAMAMA” and “DADADADADA” when he’s upset, though we’re pretty sure it doesn’t mean anything yet at this point. He is starting to be able to sit up unassisted, to pivot himself in different directions on his tummy, and he can stubbornly roll front to back but not the other way around.
He’s also finally starting to enjoy bathtime. Splashing the water. Kicking his ducks out of the tub, or smacking them, or sometimes grabbing them and shoving them in his mouth.
No matter what, no matter how tough my day has been, one little smile from him and I melt. He is worth it all, everything.