Stay eight and a half months old forever.

Never grow up. Always laugh hysterically at the vacuum, the word “doggie” and your daddy going down the stairs. Always be just the right size, small enough to hold on my hip and cuddle your head into my neck. Always say “dada” and “oh oh oh” when you wake up in your crib. Always laugh at your face in a mirror. Always scream at the top of your lungs, for no good reason except that you just learned how. Always need me to pick you up when you fall backwards and unclog your bottle when it gets stuck. Always sing to the music with “ah”s and “mmm”s. Always get Cheerios stuck to your chubby little hands when you’re trying to jam as many as possible into your mouth. Always cry when you need me and stop when I hold you. Always sleep two doors down and don’t ever go anywhere I don’t take you. Always gibber and babble and giggle. Always be ticklish and curious and perfect and mine. Don’t ever, ever grow up.