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Emry Isaiah is 6 months old.
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Six months is such a great age. He’s awake and aware, he likes to chill out and observe (and especially loves to watch his big brother’s antics), he smiles, giggles, and shrieks with delight, but he can’t get into anything yet.
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And though he can put on a good frowny face, he’s an extraordinarily good-natured baby. Every time I think he’s going to cry and he doesn’t, I am amazed. And thankful.
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Plus, six months is the height of chubby cheeks, wrist rolls & jowls.

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His hands are like little starfish, all the fingers extended as he reaches for something.

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Everything goes into the mouth.

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Yuck.

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That’s better.

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Six months is pure baby. Fuzzy-headed, thumb-sucking, snuggly baby.

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Ridiculous without trying.

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I love it.