Fractional birthdays

Lady P is six months old. Half a year. Just fifty per cent of a one year old.

She is 100% of a lovely chubby chunk. And fully giggly. She is utterly in love with her own feet. Also, she is complete in her mastery of skills like sitting up, chewing, and sleeping. She's at least halfway to brilliance in most fields, we think.

One half of her perfect chubby little feet

And despite only being a partial one year old, she has fully transformed our lives. At dinner with friends we can't help but brag about her dexterity with the sippy cup. Before going to bed each night we go and 'check the baby', standing side by side cooing in silent wonder as Lady P snuffles in her sleep, her little bottom in the air, her thumb in her mouth. Then we get into bed and look at photos of her on our phones. Yes, we have completely become those people.

If half birthdays were a thing, I'd have baked her a cake. But they aren't, so I didn't. I at least have not become that person. At least, not completely.