He screams while we undress him; he screams while he gets measured; he screams while we walk down the hall towards the scale, and then screams the whole time he is on the scale; he screams the walk back to the room; he screams while we wait twenty minutes for the doctor; he screams while the doctor is in the room talking to me; he screams while the doctor is examining him; and finally, he screams while he is getting four shots into his chubby thighs.
It is all very stressful. He is old enough to know that the visit is going to be painful, but not old enough for us to be able to describe why we are there or to bribe him with a post-doctor's visit treat.
And in his defense, all four of his shots involved rather long needles, poor baby, and one resulted in a fever later on that night.
Anyway, his appointment was yesterday and we learned while there that he has fallen out of his ninety percentiles -- and fallen out of his eighty percentiles for that matter. His weight is in the 79th percentile, his head size in the 48th percentile, and his height in the 39th percentile! I'm not convinced that that last number is quite accurate though. According to the records he only grew one quarter of an inch, but they measure him by penciling a line by his feet while he is lying screaming and writhing on the table, and then penciling a line by his head, and I'm not convinced that a particularly heartfelt shudder didn't bump the penciling hand of the nurse doing the measuring. Especially because he has left 12-month clothes behind and is comfortable wearing the 18-month ones.
But at any rate, we are done with the pediatrician for another three months. And both Owen and I are very glad.
1 comment:
Poor Owen! He's too smart for his own good. My three children were too dopey to remember the doctor from visit to visit and were always shocked to find themselves pricked at the end of what was a very nice visit.
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