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.
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.
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