It was no joke when I was talking about the load of the baby jogger I was pushing last night. Turns out Heath is a whopping 42.8 pounds and in the 97th percentile for height. We found out today during his 4 year check-up. And the little miss of the house is a stunning 25 pounds. We know this because she insisted on being weighed, too. As a matter of fact, she insisted on having a turn with everything they did with Heath. Blood pressure check. My turn. Vision test. My turn. Weird beeping ear thingie. My turn. Immunizations...
...she didn't request a turn. Instead she stood beside the nurse and said, It okay, Heef.
It was okay, but that didn't stop Heath from periodically mentioning that lady who did that to me and his plans for telling her not to do that again next time he sees her.
A couple of lollipops and a trip to Mark's work eased the pain. Rows of dumpsters, a tour of the inside of a dump truck, and watching a busy worker separating the contents of a dumpster with a mini-excavator on a concrete pad makes everything better.
And a solo, pushing no one but myself 6.5 miles on the greenway does the trick, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment