Tomorrow our little dude is seven months with us.  Last night we opened the champagne we bought before his birth and we toasted to the first week of uninterrupted sleep and to the huge fun he is even when he is cutting that fourth tooth.  We sat at the computer and looked through pictures and videos and we could not believe the amount of memory seven short months can hold.  He was so furry!  So squeaky!  So skinny and sad and turtle-ish.  His head is so big now!  He is about to crawl!  He laughs and giggles and shrieks and gives the biggest, wettest, toothiest kisses.

I am still full of baby fever.  I am a bleeding heart over every baby I meet, read about, see.  I could tell you where I would put a second crib, could list off my top three baby names, have reorganized the nursery closet in order to house two sets of clothes over and over in my mind.  I've thought about the diapers, the sleepless nights, the two of everything and still, if you were to put a baby in my arms right this second I would smile the biggest smile, say the biggest thank you.

Maybe I am housing some nutty hormones.  Maybe I am delirious from lack of sleep (I'm not sure one week of sleep is enough to make up for the last half year).  I'm over here pulling that blessed man into my feverish, nutty, delirious dream.  In the beginning he rolled his eyes, shook his head, laughed me off.  But now we are seven months into the biggest adventure we have been on yet and we are both hooked.  Send us all the babies.  Send us all the coffee, too.  We'll stumble out alive and laughing because this is us, now: still very much in love with our bicycles and our mountain and our lake but also bursting with excitement to bring a little bug along too.