Six months ago, August, you were just a squawking 8.5 pounder.

We wrapped you in a square cloth that went two and a half times round your tiny frame. In fact, we could cover your entire torso with a kidney-shaped burp cloth.

Truth be told, most of the time you slept, eyes shut tight against the big, bright world. And when you weren’t sleeping you shouted your little lungs out. And when you weren’t sleeping or shouting, you drank milk, greedily, slinging your head about, while your mum flailed over the complexities of “the latch.” At the beginning, you were small enough to be tucked under one arm in the so-called “football hold.” I never worked out what was so football about it.

You wore size “N” nappies. And your hair was wispy, flyaway silk.

And then, tick-tock, time went by. And you got bigger. And your hair went from flyaway silk to soft little spikes. You outgrew your newborn T-shirts. You moved up to size 1 nappies. And then size 2. And then size 3.

Now, you are strong enough to sit up in a highchair and you’ve learned how to chew your food. You eat rice and fruit and vegetables and cheese. And you think drinking milk is for babies. You know how to make me laugh. And when you look someone in the eye, it means something. You are not so little any more.

But here’s the funny thing: Six months from now, I know I’ll look back at this time, the time when you were just a 16.5 pounder and marvel at how small you were “way back when” — in the days before you had teeth, before you could walk or talk or kick or run or crack genius jokes.

Far be it from me to hold you back, but oh my darling, don’t grow up too quickly!