Four months ago, I pondered whether August was old.

Pish! Old, indeed.

Let me tell you about old.

My son has four razor-sharp teeth.
His hair has grown so long it could just about use a cut.
He can pull himself up to standing in a higgledy-piggledy sort of way.

He has also learned how to pucker up his face and yell loud enough to reach the moon and stars.

And I guess, my friends, that makes him old.