Tom and Rowan were lying on the bed tonight after Rowan's bath. Rowan was just in a diaper, cooing and laughing and rolling around. (He loves to have his toes free.) Tom was talking to him; I was brushing my teeth and eavesdropping. Tom said, "Do you know that tomorrow you turn 8 months old? That's 75% of the way to one year! Woohoo!" Something inside me kind of twisted around for a second, taking that in. 3/4 of the way to a year old? Our baby? Can it be? And then the (probably predictable) conflicting thought: I can hardly remember not having him. It's as if he's been here forever. Like most things in parenthood, this one has me perplexed, with no hope -- and really no desire -- to figure out how a person can be so new and so old all at the same time.