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Dear Arlo | 8 months

Dear Arlo, Eight months- also known as the month that you decided to go all Kelly Clarkson on us, and become 'Miss Independent'. Gone are the days of plopping you down on the floor with toys and staying entertained for thirty minutes. You are on the move. Within seconds, you are dragging your body (army crawl style) across the floor, trying to find whatever you can to chew on. You like to drink your bath water, pull yourself up on things you shouldn't, and chew on the bars of your crib. Yes, Arlo, you are a straight up wild woman... but If I'm being honest, Daddy and I kind of love it.  You have us all wrapped around your finger and we don't mind one bit.

Until next month, little lady.

Love. Mom



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Dear Arlo | 7 months

Dear Arlo, My girl. Seven months old. You are officially closer to one year old than you are a newborn and that reality is hitting me like a ton of bricks. Time is cruel and fast and I know that soon enough, you will actually be one year old and I'm just not ready for you to grow up. SPOILER ALERT: your momma does not deal with change well, so this whole "growing up" thing might not happen for you. If I had it my way, you would stay a baby forever.

We've been going through a lot of changes lately. You and I have been trying to find a balance between Mommy getting work done at home, and spending time/playing/taking care of you. It's more often than not that I spend the day feeling guilty that you're playing in your bouncer or in your walker while I stare at a computer screen, editing.. emailing.. posting, not always giving you my full attention. The balance between being a stay at home and a work at home mom Is new for all of  us, and even though I'm SO thankful that I get to stay home with you and work at the same time, the struggle is real. Though I am admittedly a protestor to change, I do love watching you grow and learn. You are sitting up pretty well on your own now, eating LOTS of grown up food, and you've really mastered the art of being a drama queen. You still love love love doggies, (grandma and grandpa's morbidly obese corgi is your favorite creature to ever walk this earth), you're a bit of a momma's girl, and you dance and smile whenever we sing you songs with your name in it.

I'm learning with each month that these little letters are not only for you, but for me, too. To be able to look back and see how we've both grown over this past year Is something so special. Sometimes I can't believe how overwhelming this love is. Or how awesome you are.

Love, mom




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Dear Arlo | 2 months old

Dear Arlo, I can't believe you are two months old! I hate to admit it, but I spent the first 1.5 months of your life so consumed with hormones and sleep deprivation that I forgot to stop and marvel at you. I am so sorry for that. With a clear head and a little more sleep, I'm now trying to soak in every moment . To be brutally honest with you, kid, the two month old you is a lot more fun than the newborn you. You are so alert! Daddy and I are starting to get a feel for your personality, which we think is a mix of both sassy and stubborn (no surprise there). Your days are spent in a cycle of eating, cooing and talking to momma, crying, sleeping and repeat.  You love to stare at ceiling fans and find it pretty funny when your doggies give you kisses. We sing crazy made-up songs, play you country music, and speed walk with you around the house when you get bored and start to cry... which is pretty often. (We are finding more and more that you like to make mommy and daddy work pretty hard to keep you entertained and happy! Daddy called you a "diva" the other day, which I think is pretty accurate.)  You are weighing in at 9.5 lbs, all of your brown fuzzy hair is falling out and you are looking more and more like daddy with each passing day. It has been so fun watching you learn and grow over these past weeks, and just when I think I can't love you more, you go and do something adorable that makes my heart explode. We love you so much and can't wait to see what this next month brings!

Love, Mom