Mac turned eight months today. Eight months! You know what that means, right? Only four more months of breastfeeding for me. Ever!

Can I hear an Amen?!

Can I get a Hallelujah?!

I'm a a total lactivist, but the truth is, I'm getting tired. Plus, I promised myself all new bras and underwear as soon as I reached the twelve-month mark. I really need those products, people.

Also, and this is an important factor, Mac has six teeth. The two you see on the bottom here:



And four more on top.

These days, he's constantly on the move - pulling up and cruising and racing toward particles on the floor. He still loves to chew paper and electrical cords. He still loves to laugh at Shef. His hair gets redder and redder, and his eyes have stayed blue.

It's easier to enjoy a second baby, I think. I know how fleeting this baby year is, which makes the hard times a little less hard.

Sometimes I tell Mac that he's "my little gift from God," which is so unlike me. I don't say things like that or even really think that way.

But, I do feel incredibly lucky. Even at 12 and 2 and 3 and 5 and 6:30.