Recently, we bought Charlotte her own little table.
This one, from Ikea:
When Chris was home for five days and Charlotte and I were still in Glen Ellyn, he picked up a little bitty folding chair for a few bucks at a thrift store. We have her table and chair set up in our now totally-taken-over-by-kid-toys family room. I set her up with crayons and construction paper and puzzles and her little toy computer. She likes her table, but she doesn’t care for the construction paper…
Washable crayons are amazing.
(Oh! I just watched Great Britains take the silver medal in men’s gymnastics away from Japan. So fun to watch!)
But anyway….Charlotte had her 18 month check-up today. We’re a month and a half late because we forgot about her first appointment and went to Colorado instead.
She did very well getting her blood pressure checked (with the cutest mini arm band), her finger pricked and then squeeze for blood for a good three minutes, and two immunizations. There were only a couple tears after the last shots, but then I told her we were going to get in the car to meet Dada and she was happy again. This girl loves her daddy something fierce.
She weighs 27.8 pounds and is 34 inches tall. She has been steadily following the 75th percentile for weight since she was only a few months old, and she has jumped up to the 90th percentile in height (up from the 65th, I think).
(They just announced that Japan did earn the silver, and GB the bronze! OMG! PS. They should stop calling the female gymnasts the Women’s Team. I think there is only one woman on that team. The rest of them are like five. They’re kids. And we’re okay with that.)
But anyway…I seem to remember going to a check-up as a child and noticing that my weight and/or height wasn’t even on the growth chart at one point; I was so tiny. I remember the doctor saying that it didn’t really matter that I wasn’t on the chart, as long as I kept growing steadily. But moments like this, as well as every other person on the planet thinking I was at least three years younger than I ever was, made me extremely self-aware of my little physique. It wasn’t until high school that I reached five feet tall, and not until I was 17 that I hit 100 pounds. Isn’t it funny how we imagine our future kids will be exactly like us? Did Charlotte get anything from me? 🙂
Oh yes; she got my feet.
If these early growth charts are even remotely accurate predictors of Charlotte’s future size, she may be saved from some schoolyard teasing, and she may even have a chance at being remotely capable of playing sports. (If she wants to, of course. I’m still rooting for the violin.) Hurray for Daddy’s genes!
On a more serious note, we are taking Charlotte to see a speech specialist concerning her vocabulary. We’re not too concerned that she has a real issue, but considering how much she understands, her pronunciation skills might seem slightly behind.* I think the hardest part of all this will be just taking her to the appointment because the place is called The Center for Disabilities and Development. (Disabilities?!) If it was just called the We’re Checking on Your Speech Center, I think we’d all feel better. It’s reminiscent of when I had to hang out in the cancer ward to have my glands biopsied a couple of years ago. It’s just not a place you want to go, you know?
*Actually, our nurse practitioner didn’t say with absolution that Charlotte is behind, but she thought it couldn’t hurt to have her evaluated if it would make us feel better. It’s too bad my cousin Mary doesn’t live with us so that I could ask her every day to give us a full report on our daughter’s language development.