8 months, 2 weeks late.
dear me, arlo j.,
at eight months (and ten days), you are, very much so, my sweetheart. when i pick you up, you squeeze me and bury your face in my neck unless, of course, you bite me on my shoulder. you do the same with your dad, and squeal and squirm when he walks in the room. you also laugh and clap when you see your grandma evelyn (vovi). you have to know, kiddo, how that sends her over the moon.
|napping on vovi's bed.|
you have the sweetest soul, and it just melts my heart. you were, i think, sent here to bring joy. and you are so so good at it.
what you are also: so strong. in the course of one day before christmas, you learned how to crawl, and sit up from both your belly and your back. we think its because you spent one day at your girlfriend lyra's house, and you took particular notice as she crawled past you after some blocks (even reaching out and grabbing her tights as she did, leaving lyra pants-less and you quite pleased with yourself). two nights later - when you should have been sleeping - across the floor you went (straight for your dad's shoes), wounded army soldier style.
and now you're all over. all over. not content with your toys, even all the new ones you got for christmas (more on that later), you drag yourself to the aforementioned shoes, or cds, or the dog's water bowl. you spent 15 minutes the other day desperately attempting to pull yourself to standing on the ottoman, just so you could have a good luck inside my almost empty cup of coffee.
lastly, your first christmas. please be forewarned: your great aunt debbie told me recently that your grandpa larry has your next few christmas and birthday gifts all planned out. and if they're anything like this christmas's gift, buckle your seatbelts, kiddo. literally.
yup. your own little airplane. with your name on it. it will be another two years (three?) before your feet touch the pedals, but your sure knew how to grab the steering wheel.