To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
My baby's four months now
Learning how to pose hehe 
Teething like crazy~ something's always in his mouth
His hand.....
His blanket......
Or his foot hehe
Made possible by Gretchen at 11:33 PM
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