The teething face
Anyway, the point of all that rambling was that I don't read them. I don't even glance at them mostly. I only open the ones from Johnson's and Nestle and Gerber, scan them for coupons and then delete. But every once in a while something catches my eye.
There is, at this moment, a message in my email informing me that my baby is 26 weeks old. For those of you slow on the math, that's half a freakin' year. I have been making vague plans for 6 month pictures. (She has nothing to wear because she is in 12 month clothes. I don't have many 12 month clothes at this point.) She's going to turn 6 months, officially on our vacation next week. I have been mostly aware of this coming nonsense, but there is nothing like a black print subject line to say, "Time is getting away from you. You don't use the camera enough, you still don't have a single video of her and she's growing up, dammit, these days are numbered."
I knew time went faster when you had kids. I already had a kid. But I didn't know that the speed of time doubles with every child. I didn't know it would get worse. I didn't know that on her six month birthday I would still feel like I had only been back from maternity leave for about a week and a half.
Let's face it, by the time I get adjusted to her being able to sit up, she'll be in school.
Please forgive me for trying to change your diaper at your high school graduation. I remember, now that you are eighteen. It just seems like I just got this email that said that you were 26 weeks old. Did all of your teeth come in? Yes, I'm glad. Just wake me in time for your wedding, okay?