(^,^) 3rd Mo
Along with your turning of your 61 st day was August’s gush of wind and longer pitter-patter of the rain on top. There are the scales of proof you are every inch growing if not for the tops that used to be draping until your ankles; now inching above your protruding abdomen. Thanks to your ravenous appetite both for sleeping and suckling. Your tiny toes and prickly fingers to your arms and thighs were ballooning. Your cheeks are stuffed and are puffed some more. When you wriggle to stretch – told to tickle your growth plate, contract your abdominal muscles, fix your stare, squeeze your forehead into redness with some folds that ashen, will mom has to hear the passing of gas of abominable sound? Chuckles are registered on mom’s face but the worry of formidable colic ebbs away. Your lids droop to slumber with your arm draped over your forehead or somewhere else over your face. Even to the innocent sounds of everyday, you stir up into either slow prying of your eyes with s
