Doctor Doctor

Owen had his two-and-a-half year doctor’s visit yesterday morning and it was a relatively uneventful visit, which was good.  He was calmer than in previous visits, and only really got upset for the shot and the measuring (which he thought was going to be the shot, since both take place supine on the table).  He also hates the weighing out in the hall in nothing but a diaper—but what’s to like about that?

We were waiting for the doctor to come into our exam room, and Owen was marching around in nothing but a diaper, and kept suggesting hopefully, “Doctor went home.”  Nice try, kid!

He is in the 43^rd percentile for height, so I guess he is following in his father’s footsteps, since I’m told Sean was on the short side until 9^th grade when he became a very non-short 6’4”.  Owen is 69^th percentile in weight, and most of that is thanks to pretzel sticks.

He was able to be social with the nurse, and gave her a high five when she asked.  He was fine with the ear exams and the mouth exams and even giggled when the stethoscope was used.

I wouldn’t say Owen is a really shy kid, but he still tends to not want to fraternize with the enemy.  He is at his friendliest when the doctor or nurse is leaving the room, and then he is all smiles and “Goodbye, doctor!”  “See you soon!” “Have a day!”

Owen commanding an orange cat who is often in our yard

 to Stay Away From Our Birds!  

The cat was nowhere to be seen when the scolding was being administered, 

but I suppose that is neither here nor there.

Owen In May

I was going to unoriginally call this post flotsam and jetsam, but then I was distracted by wondering about the etymology of flotsam and jetsam, and then by the fact that unbeknownst to me, flotsam are goods floating on the sea, and jetsam are things thrown into the sea.  And then I had to think about that for awhile, since that is what my sleep-deprived brain does these days:  it hooks onto a little factoid and then floats away with it, not unlike flotsam, but not quite like jetsam.  Who knew.

So anyway, this shall be odds and ends, or as Virginia Woolf would say, orts and fragments.

Owen had his 9-month appointment this week and he basically cried from the minute we walked into the exam room until we left.  He is officially On To Us now, and knows that a doctor’s office equals a long needle stuck into a fat thigh, namely his own fat thigh, the worst kind to be stuck with long needles.  He also now cried all throughout what I, personally, would find the worst part of the visit—which is lying nude on a scale in the hallway and having his weight proclaimed loudly to all the world who might be listening.  24 ½ pounds.  Which I don’t think is much more than he weighed last visit, but still puts him in the 95^th percentile for weight.  He is now only in the 81^st for height!  And his head gets a solid D- at 64%.

Here is Owen in happier times with cool shades on 

and then with—hello ladies!—cool shades off:

His “communication” skills and his gross motor skills are a little borderline worrisome.  I’m not bothered by his gross motor laggings, as I think he really could be doing what he “should” be doing if he indeed was less inclined temperamentally to be okay with lying on his back and having one of his three adults bring desired objects straight to his outstretched hands.  But the communication issues—namely that although he talks non-stop, he doesn’t really say consonants yet—trouble me a tiny bit, so I think I am going to go ahead and call the Early Intervention folk for a visit.  Since the doctor’s visit, however, I was told by Martha that Henry’s first word wasn’t until age 14 months (“da” for dog), and told by my mother that Martha herself said “da” for everything for a very long time—so it seems Owen’s “issues” (such that they are) run in the family.

And now this entry is getting longer than I had intended, so perhaps I’ll make it all Owen and not odds and ends after all.  Bear with me.

Owen came into work on Friday with his father to pick me up.  It was his first time here, not including all the days he spent here in the womb, and many folks were eager to see him (or pretended to be in front of his proud parents).  My boss was out for the day, so we took the opportunity of taking a picture of Owen at her desk (and then promptly texting the picture to her).  Here is Owen, the big cheese:

Apparently at 11:30, Owen likes to watch a show on PBS called Daniel Tiger.  I have yet to see it myself, but said Daniel gets very close to the camera and talks directly to the kids watching, and this cracks Owen up.  Here he is laughing at Daniel Tiger:

 And finally, Owen is still not crawling forward yet, although he does get up on his hands and knees and pretends.

And here he is having propelled himself backwards under the couch in the sunporch, whereupon he was distracted by the wonder that is our ceiling fan.

 

Amazing!

Soft Muscles

Owen had his six month check-up last week, and since Sean had brought him to his last two appointments, it was my turn to be on doctor duty.  Luckily Owen's Aunt Susan came along to help with the wrangling!

Here is Owen in all his glory, waiting for the doctor to do her stuff.  As Susan says, this picture shows that Owen has a lot of muscle, but soft muscles at that.

At almost 22 pounds and 28.5 inches, Owen is in the 96th percentile for weight and 95th for height.  His head is in the 91st percentile.  Owen very much enjoyed ripping the paper he was sitting upon:

He was busy!  He enjoyed the whole appointment, except for the three vaccines that were injected into his fat legs (he actually liked the vaccine he got to take orally, and smacked his lips when it was done).

We don't have to return until he is nine months old.  Hooray!