As of September 13th, the Schmoopadoo is now six months old. Parenting, I've found, is full of clichés, so I'm not going to apologize for saying that I have no idea how the time passed so quickly. One moment he was a tiny, squirmy newborn with a shockingly full head of hair, and the next he's a chatty, drooly, grabby, smiley baby half way to his first birthday.
Oh, and yes, he still has a shockingly full head of hair. One friend told us he looks like a TV anchor, so one of our terms of endearment for him is "Ron Burgundy." You know, "Stay classy, San Diego."
The Schmoopadoo adores his siblings, even his overly loving, slightly smothering older sister.
No one makes him giggle as hard as his brother, the Schmoop.
His father's rendition of the "ABC" song brings him (and only him, I should add) more joy than almost anything else.
His teething ruins every outfit with a stream of drool, but he has no teeth yet
He's only fussy when he's hungry or sleepy... or in the car for too long. Truly. My firstborn cried more in his first week of life than the Schmoopadoo has in the past six months.
He's so quiet I've caught myself looking back at the infant mirror to make sure I actually put the baby in the carseat.
He's so easy-going I've taken him to nearly two dozen movie screenings since I started working again in July. He just sleeps or nurses or coos quietly. I know that won't keep up for much longer, but I haven't had to pump but four bottles for him since he was born.
He's the biggest surprise of my three surprise (on three different forms of birth control) pregnancies. When I found out I was pregnant, I never imagined saying this -- but I thank God every day that the IUD failed.
He's brought so much joy into our family of five that we finally feel complete.