Arlo's still kissing us and mimicking us (e.g., he shakes his head when we shake our heads), and he's recently added feeding us to his repertoire. Last Monday, he was eating some Cheerios when I got home from work, and when I bent in to give him a smooch, he shoved a Cheerio in my face. It couldn't have been more obvious that he was trying to feed me, so I opened up and let him, and he was quite pleased with himself. Since then, Danny and I let him share a couple of bites of all of his meals with us. For some reason, Arlo enjoys it, and Danny and I think it's adorable—so it's a win-win situation.
There isn't a whole lot else going on. This winter hasn't been too kind to Cleveland, so my poor boy hasn't been leaving the house much. I bought him a snowsuit a few weeks ago that I've been dying to put on him, but it's just been too cold to even think about sticking a baby in a pile of snow. Over the weekend, I brought the snow to Arlo.
And it was very anticlimactic. First, he dipped his hand into the bowl of snow, screamed bloody murder, and jumped into my lap. To be fair, it was literally 2 degrees outside, so that snow was probably painfully cold.
Eventually, he was semi-entertained by watching Scooter eat the snow, but he certainly wasn't blown away by it. I'd imagined him throwing snow into the air, and belly-laughing as it came back down on his head. Pfft.
At least Scooter was amused.