35 and 36 Weeks

Arlo is 36 weeks and 2 days old, and I need to get caught up around here. A lot has happened these last two weeks.

 

 

First and foremost, like I've said, my mother-in-law had a bad stroke on Thanksgiving, which has changed our lives immensely. She's still paralyzed on the left, but she's more or less "with it" mentally, which is a miracle in itself. The day after Thanksgiving, Danny and I hugged each other in the parking lot of the hospital, bawling hysterically because we were terrified she was wasn't going to live.

 

She'll be in a rehabilitation facility for at least a few more weeks, and we don't know where we'll proceed from there yet. It all depends on how much she improves. I should mention that she's an only child, Danny's dad died years ago, and Danny's an only child—so we're all she has. This means we probably won't be trying to make a baby brother or sister for Arlo any time soon.

 

How about a picture to break up a giant wall of text?

 

This whole nightmare has reminded us how lucky we are to have so many wonderful friends in our lives. My mother-in-law's neighbors cooked us the turkey she had in her fridge so it wouldn't go to waste. A dozen people dropped off dinner for us or watched Arlo while Danny and I went to the hospital or to work. I keep catching myself wondering what kind of terrible shit Danny and I must've done in our past lives to deserve catastrophe after catastrophe after catastrophe in this life, but our friends are proof that we must've done something so, so right, too.

 

Anyway, we hired a nanny, and she'll be starting this Friday. Arlo hasn't seen his Grammy in two weeks, and his little world has already been disturbed so much that Danny and I couldn't bear the thought of sending him to daycare yet. The nanny obviously costs more than daycare would have, but we'll feel better knowing he's in his own house, with his own toys and dog, receiving the one-on-one attention that he's used to. Eventually, we'll probably transition him to daycare, but we wanted to avoid too much change for him at once.       

 

Now, let's let some photos do the talking. My 30th birthday was five days after my mother-in-law's stroke, and our hearts were still heavy (they still are), but we did our best to celebrate.



Oh, that's what a person looks like after crying non-stop and not sleeping for 5 days.



We kept Arlo up to celebrate. He's was tired.

Arlo tried to eat my presents.

 

Let's see... Arlo had his first mini-cold, as well as his first boo-boo—courtesy of Scooter (but it was actually Danny's fault).

 

I kept trying to hide the boo-boo in pictures, but in retrospect, I wish I had a better photo of it. His left eye was a little bruised and scratched. (You can see it better in the candle-blowing photo above.)

He's still sprouting teeth like it's his job, and I don't even know what's going on in his mouth right now. I do know that he's always chewing on something, and he's already destroyed his crib rails.

 

 

Speaking of the crib, Danny and I are feeling confident enough that the reflux is gone that we ditched the bouncy seat, and Arlo is finally sleeping in his crib now, instead of in his bouncy seat in his crib. He wasn't too thrilled the first couple of nights, which made me wonder if his reflux was acting up, but his sleep is improving, so I guess he just didn't know what to do with all that space at first. Unfortunately, he enjoys sleeping flat on his face, which is unsettling, to say the least.

 

He's getting tired of crawling, so he's been "walking" with his hands and feet on the floor (you know, with his butt up in the air), and I can't even handle how hilarious it is. He's also mastered doing this to things:

 

 

Loves his Roomba.

 

He's become a pro at using his thumb and forefinger to guide food into his mouth, and he really loves that he can feed himself his own snacks. Danny and I love it, too, because it keeps him occupied while we eat. Needless to say, Scooter loves it, too—for other reasons. 

 

Lastly, we visited Santa, and my little elf couldn't have been more cooperative (which really wasn't a huge surprise).

 

Oh, and here's my favorite recent photo of Arlo:



Can't even tell you how much that smile does for me.

30 Weeks

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.

29 Weeks

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.

 

25 Weeks

Arlo is 25 weeks and 1 day old, and I'm phoning (iPhoning. Bahahaha.) it in with a photo dump this week.

Obligatory jumperoo photo. (Sorry for the blur.)

Obligatory stroller photo.

Obligatory bouncy seat photo.

Documentation that he graduated from the sink to the whale tub this week.

Documentation that he tried his first non-cereal baby food, carrots (and wasn't a fan).

My favorite photo of the week. 

23 Weeks

As of yesterday, Arlo is 23 weeks old, and I'm pleased to report that he's sleeping! He still can't quite make it through the night, but he's getting damn close. He's been waking up just once most nights—typically around 4. I'll take it.

I'm assuming he's sleeping because his higher dose of Zantac is really kicking in. He still shows signs of reflux—but not constantly like before. Having him in his bouncy seat in his pitch-black room is undoubtedly helping, too. We're getting closer and closer to discovering the perfect recipe.

We saw the GI specialist last week, and she seemed confident that he'll outgrow the reflux within a couple of months. In the meantime, she told us to start feeding him rice cereal, which we've been doing at dinnertime. This could also be contributing to the better nights. But who knows.

In the lobby, waiting to see the specialist.

She also told us that we need to feed him on demand, like you do newborns—that it wouldn't be fair to Arlo to attempt to put him on a feeding schedule. When he feels well enough to eat, he'll eat. If he can only handle an ounce at a time, we have to work with him. This is what we've been doing, so the reassurance was nice. Yes, most babies should be on a schedule now. Mine can't be because he's in pain.

Anyway, if the reflux is still around in 6 weeks, the specialist would like to have us back to schedule some testing.

I haven't felt this rested since before Arlo was born. I'm not saying I'm no longer sleep deprived—because I totally am—but I'm finally feeling ambitious enough to start exercising again. Thank God. I haven't lost the million pounds that I put on while I was pregnant, and my I-just-had-a-baby license is about to expire. We've been walking our butts off.

My walking buddy.

There's a little playground about two blocks from our house, and Danny and I finally took Arlo there the other day. Arlo's swinging session was probably the highlight of my week. This kid's turned me into such a sap that my eyes filled with tears as he swung back and forth a thousand times, just beaming as he experienced the sensation of the wind in his hair and took in all the new sights. His eyes darted from the sky to the trees to the ground—and always, back to our faces. I think he loves our smiles as much as we love his.

 

Weee!

We're a bunch of grinning fools, I tell ya. Life is so good.

17 Weeks

Arlo is 17 weeks old today, and he's the smiliest baby I've ever seen. Between the hours of 7 A.M. and 6:30 P.M., he's all grins. After that, he kind of falls apart until I let him go to sleep. I'm trying to push back his bedtime, in hopes that he'll sleep better at night, but he just spazzes out when he gets too sleepy.

Smiling on Grammy's couch.

Speaking of sleep, to say it isn't going well would be an understatement. I'm so tired that I'm not even tired anymore, and I'm actually starting to feel kind of drunk by the end of the week. Arlo wakes up five or six times a night. Each time, he eats a little bit and goes right back to sleep.

I started to wonder if maybe he needs actual food, and I know it's not unheard of for people to introduce their babies to solids at 4 months, so we've been feeding him oatmeal twice a day.

His very first bite of food. 

I know lots of people think this is too early, including the American Academy of Pediatrics, and I certainly never planned on starting him on cereal until 6 months—but I guess part of being a good, sane parent is being willing to throw plans out the window sometimes. All that said, the oatmeal isn't helping. He sure looks cute with it smeared all over his little face, though. I think he's probably swallowing about 25% of what we attempt to give him, but each attempt is a little better than the previous one.

Despite the look on his face, he's a fan.

Scooter's waiting patiently for his turn.

No major developments to report. While his babbles are still comprised mostly of vowels, he's added "bee, "ma," and "caw" to his repertoire, along with last week's "ghee." He still loves cranking his leg to make his bouncy seat bounce, and he can kinda-sorta reach the floor when he's in his jumperoo if he stands on one foot. He can also reach a couple of the toys on the jumperoo, which he thinks is just fantastic.

See? Kinda-sorta. 

He makes me so happy every single day, and it goes without saying that he's worth every tired, drag-ass minute—but something's gotta give, kid.