Arlo is 29 weeks and 2 days old, and at his 6-month appointment 8 days ago, he was 19 pounds (68th percentile) and just shy of 27" long (52nd percentile). His head circumference has reached the 93rd percentile, which might be concerning if Danny's head weren't also quite a bit larger than average.
|At the doctor's office, all noggin.|
I've been a naughty mama, and I've been sneaking Arlo hunks of fruits and vegetables here and there. We definitely didn't mention this to his old-school doctor last week. He doesn't actually take any bites (okay, he did with the banana), but he loves gnawing on them, and it's fun to watch him genuinely enjoy the flavors. So far, the crazy plum-apricot hybrid that we got from a produce stand has been his favorite—and we'll probably never be able to find it again. Go figure. I almost cried happy tears while I watched him chew on that thing, smiling and smacking his lips.
|Loving his plumricot.|
There are a whole bunch of crazy rogue people like me who feed their babes "real" food. My sister did it with my niece, and that awesome girl will eat anything now. The practice is called baby-led weaning, and the theory is that this technique encourages babies to explore different tastes and textures—and to get used to chewing before swallowing. Pureed baby food teaches babies that they don't have to chew food, which, when you really think about it, does seem a little strange. Don't get me wrong, though—we still love baby food around our house, and we only offer chunks of food once in a while (and we're smart about it. I'm not handing him bowls of grapes or anything). Can we add this to that big list I've mentioned before? The one I'm keeping in my head of all the things I swore I'd never do?
Tooth update: I've heard nightmares about teething—and I know the bottom front ones are the least painful to cut through—but if it weren't for his ultra-rosy cheeks, we'd never even know when this kid's working on a tooth. He's such a trouper, and I hope my story doesn't change when the bigger teeth start to come in.
|Look at those cheeks!|
|And look at those teeth!|
Arlo spends half of his life rolling around on the living room floor, surrounded by toys. He isn't crawling, but he does all kinds of wild maneuvers to get to a toy that's a few feet out of reach. I saw him rock back and forth on his hands and knees last night while he looked at a toy, and I could tell that he just knew he could make something happen if he moved just right—so I don't imagine it'll be much longer until he's mobile. Sorry in advance, cats.