My son. You are six months old. Six months. I can hardly believe that. I remember too well the day we found out we were pregnant with you - or rather, the night we found out, since it was 2:00 in the morning when I tested. But here you are, all 15lb 7oz of you, 6 months into your life on this earth. Your smile lights up the room, and your laughter is golden. Golden Holden. You love your Daddy and your brother. Jackson makes you laugh more than anyone. But I'm sorry folks, this boy is all mama's-boy. And I love that. I love how you watch me across the room, waiting to see when I'll come and get you. And if I don't come when you expect me to, you make it known that you need me that minute! I love how you hold my thumb when you nurse and look up at me with complete trust. I love how you squeal when I turn you upside down. I love how mellow you've started to become, after a few months of being on the fussy side. I love how you snuggle with me at day's end, and how I can put you in your crib with a kiss and a hug and you drift off to sleep on your own. You are a paradox of independence and co-dependence. During the day I call you my "extra appendage" but just when I'm comfortable toting you around in my arms or the sling, you mix things up and demand some solo-time. That is so like me. I thought, when they told me you were a boy, that it was going to be the exact same experience raising a 2nd boy. But boy oh boy was I wrong. You are an individual Holden. You are your own person. You are you, and there's no confusion in that. I anticipate daily how you will change and grow. I anticipate how you and your brother will interact. I anticipate a lifetime of your delicious smile.
At 6 months. My sweet little man. I adore. You.