Jacob, my son. You were born in the middle of spring, in the middle of the day, in the middle of Buckinghamshire, with a middle name that means to be polite.
You are soon to be six months old. I still can't believe you are here with us. It hasn't sunk in that I am a Dad. You change a lot every 10 days. I try to imagine what you will be like when you can talk and play independently. It is hard to tell what a child will be like when they are an infant. When you reach that mile stone of being a toddler, I can observe and take note, perhaps then I will know you better.
