At some point this past week, Skye turned seven months old. I say “at some point” because there was no 29th of February, so her seven-month anniversary kind of got lost in the ether. One day she’ll wish she could skip birthdays, but this time, we properly celebrated the awesome passage of another month of life with several shots of banana oatmeal, followed by ample time in the Jumperoo. You should see this kid jump and kick in that crazy contraption. Michael Flatley ain’t got nothing on her!
My little Lordess of the Dance.
Seven months has also ushered in better sleeping habits, lots o’ rollin’ on the floor, baby kisses, baby hugs around the neck, and “da da da da da”s (which I blame on my mother-in-law’s brainwashing) and “blah blah blah”s (which I blame on Ke$ha).
The other day I witnessed a five-year-old(ish) boy throwing a SERIOUS temper tantrum at the doctor’s office and, at one point, I’m quite certain his head did a 360. I thought to myself, “Oh boy. ENJOY your pleasant baby while you can, lady.”
And I am.