This is cliche, and probably said by every parent ever, but it has gone so quickly. I can’t believe my tiny little baby is six months, well, nearly seven now! And it is really bad, but I find myself looking at newborns and getting a tiny pang of “ooo, I want another”. Before I remember that pregnancy is not fun, and labour hurts.
Quickly, a little run down of the last six months with my little girl.
It has been an eventful six months.
Pippin has been to one wedding, had one holiday aboard and one in the UK, she’s had her first Christmas and Halloween and has had more cuddles that I can count. Currently she’s trying her first few foods, avocado was a success, broccoli less so. She’s pushing herself to crawl, managing to get onto all fours and rock, before either pulling her feet up flat on the floor and bunny hopping or throwing herself forward and dragging herself wherever she wants to go.
She has a few favourites at the moment, baths are fun and water gets everywhere as she splashes her arms and tries to stand up. We’re getting a lot of arm flapping now too, especially when excited. Despite being unable to crawl yet she absolutely loves pulling herself up to standing and climbing everywhere.
Sleeping is still not going well, we don’t get an unbroken night of sleep yet and we very rarely get a few hours to ourselves, but when she puts her arms up for me to pick her up and cuddle her it is all forgotten.
She’s a wonderful, wilful little girl, with a smile that charms everyone she meets and I couldn’t be more exhausted, overwhelmed and proud of her.