37, 38, and 39 Weeks

Arlo is 39 weeks and 2 days old, and there are a million things I want to mention here—which is no surprise since I haven't updated in three weeks.

 

We have a lot on our plates right now. There's my mother-in-law's stroke, of course. Suffice it to say that she isn't improving, and it's agonizing to see her in a nursing home bed, half-paralyzed and unable to comprehend the gravity of her situation. She still has a contagious infection, so she hasn't seen Arlo in five weeks—and I'm getting scared that he'll forget her.  

 

On top of that, my sister is living a nightmare that nobody should ever, ever have to experience—a situation that deserves its own post, so that'll be coming soon.

 

Now, let's talk about this guy:

 

Boob pillow.

 

He is busy. If he's awake, he's undoubtedly exploring the house, and he definitely makes it impossible for me to just park my butt on the couch all evening. Why is it that he can have fifty toys scattered around the house, and he inevitably goes after the one accessible non-toy (e.g., my phone charger, Scooter's toy, the remote, a shoe)? And why do I bother spending money on toys? He played with a red Solo Cup for a half-hour the other day.

 

He's a very independent boy. For example, a couple days ago, I spent two hours organizing and doing some things around the house, and he was perfectly content roaming around the gated-off living room the whole time, just entertaining himself. You are the greatest company, Arlo.    

 

A couple times, he's stood up without support for a nanosecond—but he spends the majority of his days pulling himself up while steadying himself with furniture, our legs, or the window sill. He loves looking out the window and babbling, especially when it's snowing.  

 

The first time I caught him doing this.

Sometimes, Scooter joins in the fun, except he doesn't babble.

 

The hundredth time I caught him doing this.

 

Arlo's back on schedule with regards to sleep. He makes it through the night again—and has been known to give us twelve solid hours. On a related note, a few times, he's fallen asleep in random spots, which is off-the-charts adorable.

 

These puffs are borrrring.

 

He's also started clapping, and I'm not sure if he's doing it to express joy, or if he just likes doing it, but I can't get enough of it.

He's just getting over a nasty cold that peaked in severity on Christmas Eve/Christmas morning. Of course. He was too miserable to enjoy his presents, so that was a major bummer. He was sick. Every ten minutes, he sneezed and shot snot out both nostrils. His eyes were watery, and he just looked pitiful. Danny and I only made him unwrap one of his presents, and we unwrapped the rest. Hello, anticlimactic 1st Christmas.

 

Books are for eating.

 

Poor sickie's only smile of the morning.

 

He acted less miserable (but just as snot ridden) in the evening, and he played a little.

 

Stacking cups FTW!

 

Another note about Christmas:  Arlo somehow choked on a piece of tape—I mean legitimately choked (i.e., stopped making noise and started changing color)—and Danny had to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on him. I don't remember the last time my heart pounded so hard. I'm getting a knot in my stomach just thinking about it. Horrifying. I'm so glad Danny knew exactly what he was doing. Go brush up on baby first aid. Go, go, go.  

 

Four days before Christmas, we made the long, long trek to Michigan to celebrate with my siblings and their kids. It was Scooter's first big road trip, and they were both such good boys.

  

Timing is everything.

 

Fortunately, Arlo wasn't sick yet for our mini-Christmas, so he did get to experience opening presents.

 

Sad this shitty, grainy picture is the only one we got.

 

He had no interest. Because duh, there were bows to chew on.

 

We rang in 2014 at home last night, and it was a more successful celebration than Christmas. Arlo was happy.

 

Making him sit still in a chair has become a joke.

Here's another one because I couldn't pick.

Despite everything, we all were. We all are. You know, overall. 

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.

Grammy's Stroke

Thirty-two years ago, my mother-in-law didn't have enough money to take Baby Danny to have his pictures taken, so one of her neighbors brought over a sailor suit for him and hauled him to a department store to have his first and only professional baby photo taken.



Pardon the quality. It's a picture of a framed picture.

An 8x10 of this picture is still displayed in my mother-in-law's dining room, and it's her favorite picture in the world because it's a reminder that a little kindness goes a long way, and because, well, c'mon! Look at that cute kid and his crazy sailor suit!

When Arlo was born, my mother-in-law gave us the sailor suit--the original sailor suit that Danny wore in 1981 that she kept--and told us to try it on Arlo when he was around 8 months old or so. You can guess where this is going, so I'll just cut to the chase.

Behold! Arlo in his daddy's sailor suit! We couldn't wait to give my mother-in-law an 8x10 of her sweet boy in her other sweet boy's sailor suit. Little did we know that we'd be picking up her print and bringing it to her in a hospital bed.

My mother-in-law had a major stroke on Thanksgiving. She's still paralyzed on the left, but she's come a long way in a week. Five days ago, we were preparing to say our goodbyes, so the fact that she's able to hold a conversation now is a miracle in itself. We can't bring Arlo when we visit her because she has a bad infection--but her nightstand is filled with photos of her "big boy" because she says his smile makes her feel better.

I hate seeing that crazy, ambitious woman confined to a hospital bed, and it rips my heart out that she'll never be the same again. She certainly won't be taking care of Arlo anymore, but with a lot of luck and a lot of drive, maybe she can be close to who she was before the stroke took so much away from her. She said that one of Arlo's hugs is worth a thousand hours of physical therapy, so thank God we have him to keep her determined. He really is a miracle, that kid.