Arlo hit 30 weeks yesterday, and I apparently didn't take many photos this week—most likely because he usually looks like this:
|Everything is delicious.|
If he's awake, there's a good chance he's shoving something into his mouth. My finest moment this week was leaving him unattended so I could pee, and returning to the living room to find him rolling around in a corner, gnawing on a cord. He hadn't been alone long enough to do any damage, but good Lord! Step aside, mamas—the Mother of the Year Award is clearly mine.
In case that doesn't clinch the deal, I also allowed Danny to put a temporary police badge tattoo on our unsuspecting child's calf.
|Love that little leg.|
Anyway. No major developments this week. Arlo's still rocking back and forth on his hands and knees, and we've seen him do two legit crawl-steps (you know what I mean) on two separate occasions.
We're loving letting him try different foods, and I broke down and bought him some baby cookies (that taste like a melty piece of cardboard) that he seems to enjoy. He somehow makes such a mess with them that, by the time he's finished, you'd swear he'd just devoured a rack of BBQ ribs, not an innocent-looking little cookie.
|Pre-mess. You don't wanna see the aftermath, believe me.|
Oh, wait, here's one of him not stuffing something into his face:
|But he totally ate that blanket 2 seconds after I took this photo.|