34 Weeks

Arlo is 34 weeks old today. Some weeks, there are so many great photos on my phone that I can't decide which ones to share with you. Then, there are weeks like this one, where I have to scrape the bottom of the barrel to come up with these:


Gnawing on a roll.

Gnawing on some keys.

Gnawing on a gift from a friend. (I caught a glimse of what Christmas is going to be like—Arlo eating wrapping paper and Scooter shitting himself, trying to figure out what's in the package.)

 

Arlo's still spoiling us on the teething front. Two more top ones popped through over the weekend, putting him at six total—and he's still himself. No crazy horror stories to report. He has been waking up during the night, though, and we don't know if it's because of the teeth or a growth spurt or what. Either way, he hasn't been giving us his typical 11 1/2 solid hours.

 

A few mornings ago, he woke me up too early, so I brought him into bed with me for some snuggles. I ended up being late for work because I absolutely couldn't tear myself away from this face:  



 

And I know you can't blame me.

33 Weeks

Arlo is 33 weeks and 2 days old, and he's looking more like a toddler every day.



He's in love with the maracas Danny found when he was cleaning the basement.

You wouldn't believe how well he's crawling now—and he can't quite do it alone yet, but he's been trying to use furniture to pull himself into a standing position. Where is my tiny baby??

That face gives me butterflies.

He also sprouted two top teeth about (okay, exactly) 4 days ago. Again, where is my tiny baby?? I tried to do a top-toof photo shoot, but nobody was cooperating. I did end up with these two gems, though:

No modestly.

Did you notice I cut Arlo's bangs? He looked so much cuter with them hanging in his face, but I know that had to be annoying as hell. Oh, and yes, they're as jacked up and crooked as they appear.

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.

31 Weeks

Arlo is 31 weeks and 2 days old, and while I feel like I have a lot to say about this past week, I'm going to keep this short because my computer is still jacked, and I can't even tell you how much I hate blogging on my Kindle.
Most importantly, as of yesterday, we officially have a little crawler on our hands. He's not ready to win any races, and he still randomly collapses here and there, but he can do it, and it might be the cutest thing in the world. He looks too tiny to be crawling around like that!

This is supposed to serve as documentation that Arlo's crawling, but all it really proves is that we need to vacuum.

Sunday, we went to Danny's work for a clam bake, and we took advantage of a couple photo ops. First, Danny put us in jail:

Behind bars with my mini-me.

Then, Arlo took the cruiser for a spin:

 

Not really. Duh.

And then, both my handsomes posed in the cruiser:

How would ya like to get pulled over by these two? Yes, please.

 

Halloween happened, too. The weather was total crap (Not "carp," Kindle! Leave me alone!), which was a huge bummer because I had all kinds of outdoor photo ideas planned that couldn't happen. We did brave the weather for 10 minutes and have our friend Frank come over for a super-fast photo shoot. I shouldn't even have to tell you that my fox didn't cooperate. He only smiles for cell phone photos. Here's the best we could do, considering the wind and rain and the grumpy boy (pretend they're all centered):

 



He was in a much better mood for our earlier cell phone photo shoot.

I also had about a thousand photos of Arlo and Scooter to share with you, but I'm one weird formatting issue or autocorrect away from slamming my Kindle against the wall, so maybe I'll share those this weekend. I also want to show you a video of Arlo riding the Roomba, but for now, here he is in a crate:

Happy Seven Months: A Letter to Arlo

Dear Arlo,

You're seven months old today, and while you haven't quite figured out the crawling thing, you're always on the go. You roll, scoot, and army crawl all over the place now—and if you see something across the room that you want, you will get it. You may not take the easiest or most direct route, but you always make it to your destination eventually. I have never seen you throw in the towel, and I'm so proud of your determination.

When you aren't playing on the living room floor, you're jumping around in your jumperoo. You're such a hilarious maniac in that thing! Sometimes, you jump with such intensity that I swear you're going to go airborne. Usually, a grin is plastered on your face, but once in awhile, you're clearly on some kind of serious jumping mission, and you stare straight ahead, stone faced, and jump like nobody's business—usually hooting and hollering up a storm.

You love the sound of your own voice, and I can't really blame you. I love it, too. A couple days ago, while you shouted at the top of your lungs, I thought of the first tiny coos you made all those months ago. I remembered your daddy and me recording your sweet little "oohs," actual tears streaming down our faces—because we'd never heard a sweeter sound. Your voice was so soft then that if we'd been in another room, we wouldn't have been able to hear it. That certainly isn't the case now. You were so loud a couple weeks ago that your daddy had to go to Grammy's house to sleep before he went to work because your babbles were bouncing off every wall in the house. I smile every time I think of this.

Your daddy forgot to mention it in last month's letter, but you sprouted a bottom tooth a couple days before you turned 6 months old. There was never a change in your mood, so we didn't even realize you were teething. About 10 days later, your second front bottom tooth came in, and your ultra-rosy cheeks were the only indication that anything was going on in there. I hope you remain this unfazed by the teething process, even when your bigger teeth start to come in. I'm in no rush for that, by the way. You look adorable sporting just those two bottom teeth.

We had a nice month. October was always my favorite, but in recent years, it's become so riddled with sad milestones and memories that I've come to dread it. You breathed a breath of fresh air back into it, though. We went to a local farm to pet goats and pick out a pumpkin—and you found the pumpkins much more entertaining than the animals. We dressed you up as a fox and celebrated your first Halloween. You and I cozied up under a blanket in the evenings after your daddy went to work, staring at each other's faces and keeping each other warm. During the first half of the month, before the temperatures dropped so low, I bundled you up and took you for walks. I intentionally rolled your stroller over piles of leaves because you liked the sound of them crunching beneath us. Or maybe I did it because I liked the sound. Either way, you gave me back my October.

Love,
Mommy



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.