One Year check up time with Dr. M! Daddy and Mommy came along for the fussy ride.
I'm 19 pounds, 4 ounces.
My head is 18 inches around.
I'm 29.5 inches long. (I think the nurse was a bit generous here, but I'm not complaining.)
Turns out that my weight was mischarted three months ago at the 50th percentile mark. I am safely in the 25th percentile for weight. Been there and never left that comfort zone.
Height-wise I'm at the 50th percentile mark, but there's still time to decide if I'm going to take after tall Daddy or 'petite' Mommy.
How's the appointment go? Pretty well as far as the normal stuff like sleeping and eating patterns go. No more food aversions means no more vomit incidents so I'm officially closing the chapter on that mess.
When did the appointment head south? When Dr. M said to break out the pack'n play for one minute timeouts when I'm being naughty. Me, naughty? Never! That wine bottle fell out of the rack on its own, I swear! Something must be terribly wrong with gravity in the Garden State because kitty's water bowl tips over on its own and tends to splash on my clothes when I'm just sitting there being good. Because of this whole defective gravity thing I have to be tortured in pack'n play prision.
As if things couldn't get worse it was off to the lab for a hemoglobin retest. Stabbing really. Thankfully Mommy wore a dark shirt to cover up my DNA blood samples all over her top. Then it was off for THREE shots in the arms. Yep, that's right. At one year it's no more legs. Mommy has to hold my hands down while I'm tortured repeatedly in my arms. Refer back above for the skinny-minny comment on my weight and you can guess that there isn't much padding in my arms. Boy, was I sore and pissy!
Then it was time for Motrin and a field trip to school. Thankfully the day got better with some good ol' fashioned play time with my friends!
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