There we were. Sitting in the pediatrician’s exam room a week or so ago waiting for the nurse to enter. Quick knock on the door, followed by my favorite nurse. Yay! I hit the nurse jackpot! We got the extra-friendly one who smiles, chats with you and laughs too!
We strip The Boy down to his diaper and pop him on the scale. Healthy weight! (Yay me! I’m doing a good job!) Then we lay him on the tape to measure his height. Healthy height! (Yay me! I’m doing a good job!)
Enter the pediatrician. I’d asked about The Boy’s weight – as some people feel the need to tell me he’s skinny and/or small for his age. For the most part, I ignore those people. More on “those people” here. And these are his words…”blah blah blah your son is perfect. Blah blah blah.”
The pediatrician tells me what I already knew. Trust my instincts when it comes to meal times and snacks and kids won’t starve themselves. Awesome. He also reminds me that I have a small frame and an efficient metabolism, so it’s likely The Boy has my metabolism too. (Yay me! Provided a good gene to have!!) I love The Boy’s pediatrician. He rocks.
Today, I was reading our little blue book which records The Boy’s height and weight at each check up, I realize that at 18-months old he is 32-inches tall. Which is exactly half of my height. That’s pretty awesome too.
Hmm….I wonder how tall he’ll be at 18 years?
