Henry has officially celebrated his first holiday season. And, due to his age, I am sure he will have absolutely no memory of it, yet I cared so much to make sure it was special and Christmasy (no offense to those Hannukahns out there). I decorated the tree while holding him, as if we were doing it together. I let him watch me make dozens and dozens of cookies. I wrapped his presents. I really took the time to wrap presents that in the end, my husband opened while Henry gnawed on one of his toys. Clueless to the wonder and excitement going on around him. He got spoiled with toys and clothes and love. And I would have had it no other way.

First it was a banana on his 5 month birthday. And he's now had some almost every day since. He never ceases to impress me. It's like he just knows how to eat, we didn't really have to teach him. So it goes without saying, we will be buying more bananas than usual now that we've got a 3rd mouth to feed.
And if that wasn't enough for my poor slow-time-down-please mom of a heart, he also just had Sweet Potatoes when I made his first puree. And he couldn't get enough. He even spoon fed himself. Without stabbing the back of his throat or poking his eye out. Way too cool to be my kid. Except he came out of my lady parts, so I know he is in fact my kid.
But still, I couldn't have dreamed up a more amazing little human. Or more of a dirty laundry creating human either. Seriously. That's my life now, a constant cycle of laundry. Clothes covered in spit up, drool, food, poop. And yet it's all worth it, the trouble of chores is a very small price to pay to see a crazy little dude having an awesome time eating grown up food. But I wouldn't go as far to say I enjoy laundry. Because I really don't. It's miserable. Probably my least favorite bit of housework. Not the doing laundry part but the folding and hanging up and putting away the laundry part.
And so it is, what it is.
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