Like me, Arlo is the third child. From the start, that small, insignificant detail made him feel just a little more mine, as though our birth order gave us just a little extra in common.
He came when I was older and a little more prepared. I had learned that it would happen quickly, this thing called childhood, so I
He's my buddy, at my side while the big guys are off on their own adventures. I'm certain I spent just as much tickling Sena and Gus when they were Arlo's age. Just as much time shucking their chins, hiding under blankets, smelling their little toes and declaring "pee yew." But right now it is Arlo's time to engage in these small joys, and I think that this time around, I might
He has been a mama's boy from the start, and for better or worse, I've encouraged it. He is who needs me most, who wants me most. He is my shadow. He beams when I walk in from work, cries when I leave. He seeks me in the middle of the night, wanting to lay in the crook of my arm.
In a few short months, my time will be divided. I'll struggle with how to put him to sleep while an infant demands me. I know how big he will seem the moment I return with a little bug in my arms. It won't be much longer after that when he starts to seek independence over cuddles. When he no longer needs me the most, no longer wants me the most.
But for now, we can be each other's best friend and play while the big kids run off without us.
I spent a few too many hours over the past few days looking back. The joy and torment of nostalgia.
The most painfully nostalgic thing I may have ever written.
Arlo at one month
A smiling lump.
Arlo at two months.
Arlo's first summer.
Arlo's Birthday Brunch.
Arlo and Felix.