32 Weeks

Arlo is 32 weeks and 1 day old, and he's a crawling machine. Life has become much more hectic (but exciting!) now that he's mobile. I love watching that fat little rump crawl around, but gone are the days of plunking Arlo on the living room floor while I load the dishwasher. If I do this now, he's gnawing on either a dog toy or a pile of cords before I've even left the room.  

 

Go, Arlo, go!

It was a pretty uneventful week, I suppose. It's officially cold outside (snow and the whole shebang), so we prefer to stay in. This gives us lots of opportunities to play dress-up. Here's Arlo as a skater boy:

I think you can see his 1/4 Filipino-ness shining through here.

 

I used to hate putting hats on him because they covered up his pretty hair, but I discovered that his hair is so long now that it pokes out all around the hat—so there's no mistaking him for a bald baby (not that there's anything wrong with that).

 

But he is so not bald.

 

Piles and piles of hair on that head.

 

We did venture out a few times, though—did a little shopping and went to a first birthday party. It seems Arlo is getting a little leery of strangers and doesn't automatically flash everybody his giant grins anymore. Instead, he takes a few minutes to warm up to people he doesn't know well. This certainly doesn't deter people from passing him around, though. I've said it before, and I'll probably say it a million more times, but I am so proud to be his mama.

 

I don't have a picture to represent this, but for the past couple of weeks, Arlo's been raising his arms above his head when he wants to be picked up. He'll be jumping in his jumperoo, and I'll walk by, and he'll throw his arms in the air—telling me he wants me to get him out of that thing and hold him. I've obviously known all along that he needs me, but now, he's able to communicate this sentiment, and it kills me every time. I am so crazy for this kid.



My boy.

And here's my favorite photo of the week:
 

He loves when Daddy plays guitar.