Baby Book Entry

Four years into the game I still eagerly await my children's routine checkups. I'm not sure why, I know I'm not going to learn anything earth-shattering about their development, and I am no longer worried that the doctor is going to pick up on anything I have missed. I suppose it is just knowing that I will get affirmation from an outside, somewhat impartial, observer that my children are indeed growing well and doing age appropriate things.

Yesterday A had her two year pediatrician's appointment, and all went well. She's moved into the 25% for weight (Go A!) and dropped into the 50% for height, which is to be expected given the short stature of her parents. Although C has never dropped in height and is currently slated to hit 6'4" or so, A's chart said she should hit a more manageable 5'4".

In typical fashion, A refused to participate in any of the games Dr. S wanted to play. "A, can you jump over the tongue depressor?" A stared at her, shrugged, picked it up and handed it back. "A, throw the paper towel to me!" A looked at it, walked over to the trash can and threw it out. "A, is this a cat or a dog?" Stony silence. Dr. S finally gave up and relied on me for input. "Yes, she jumps. Yes, she throws. Yes, she knows what a cat is. Yes, she speaks in paragraphs, we have no issues with language development."

Then came the 10 million dollar question: "How does she sleep?" Pause, maniacal laughter from me. "Sleep? Oh, that. Yeah, she doesn't." After detailing A's sleep habits, the pediatrician looked at her, shrugged, and said "Huh. I'm so sorry. Well, keep putting her back in her bed and she'll eventually figure it out." Which is precisely what I knew she would say, but I had this glimmer of hope that maybe there was some new sleeping technique that the internets hadn't stumbled upon yet. On the upside, it turns out she is getting her two year molars, and one is already partially through, so I can pretend that perhaps this has just been the longest teething episode known to man.

Dr. S wouldn't let us leave her office until we caught up on the vaccination schedule, so A finally had the dreaded MMR shot, which she disliked immensely. But she was a trooper for the blood draw; probably helped by the fact that the nurse's assistant held out a glittery orange plastic bracelet during the sticking procedure, promising A that she could put it on as soon as it was over. That bracelet is now A's prize possession, and she lovingly shows it to all she meets.

So, yet another routine appointment is over, coming to the conclusion I knew it would, that my daughter is healthy and developmentally on target. But I still feel a sense of relief in the small corner of my mind that still worries that she hasn't put on weight, even though the bags of clothes I need to donate someplace beg to differ.