18 months and Squinting

Robert had his "well baby" checkup last week. All is well. He's 75th percentile for height and weight, 50th percentile for head circumference. His slightly smaller head and slightly larger bum (cloth dipes) make him look a lot bigger than he really is.

We were shown to the exam room and Robert suddenly used every limb to sucker himself to my chest. Octopus boy, I tell you! He screamed and cried while the aide took his measurements, then wrapped himself around me as I picked him up. The moment the aide left us alone in the room, Robert's head popped up off my shoulder and he climbed down to explore the room. He peeked into the table cabinets and found an empty space. He smiled his big grin and said, "Nigh-neen", which is to mean "hiding." I gave him an assuring nod and he climbed on in and shut the door on himself. Crazy, silly, funny boy. We played the hiding game for a few minutes until the doctor came in. She was amused at his antics, like no other kid had ever tried that before. I think it's more likely that no other parent had let the kid do it long enough for the doctor to walk in on (blush).

Robert turned into an octopus again while we went through all the preliminary questions for the visit. He was laying his head on my shoulder so quietly and so still that Dr. Beck even asked, "Did he fall asleep?" Yeah right. Crying, but resigned to the reality of the physical exam, Robert endured the prodding, peeking, and odd little lights quite well. Dr. Beck left and he hopped off my lap to go play in the cabinet again. We had a good few minutes to acclimate before the nurse came in. Robert ran over to me, but didn't do anything more until he saw her put on the gloves. That was it! He scrambled into my lap, pressed his body into my chest as hard as he could, wrapped his arms around my neck, buried his face into my shoulder, and sat perfectly motionless and silent. I imagine him thinking, "If I can just stay still, she won't see me anymore." The reality was, he never saw the first shot coming, but he was absolutely aware of the following two. 

He wasn't a fan of the shots. Thankfully, the angry, throaty, unearthly screams were missing this time around.  Or maybe he's just grown into them? The best part, though, was showing him the new "doggie stickers" on his thighs and telling him we were all done. He chirped, "Ah-dunn? Ah-dunn? Ah-dunn. Doggie!" as I put on his clothes. He had no more tears. He wanted no snuggles. He wanted to go. Now. Happily. And we did.

It was a good visit. I love this little character! There was another story I wanted to record here before I forgot about it:

Three mornings a week, Robert and I drive Alice to preschool. It's usually just as the sun comes over the trees and poor Robert gets a whole face full of sunshine most of the way there. It makes him sneeze and he squinches up his face shouting, "Eyes! Eyes! Eyes!" Well, last Wednesday, we turned onto the street that usually assaults Robert with sunshine and I saw him back there squinching and yelling, "Eyes! Eyes!" I burst out laughing and said, "Buddy, it's cloudy today! There's no sun in your eyes." He stopped shouting, unsquinched his eyes a little, and then looked out the window a little confused. A huge grin lit up his face and all three of us were laughing, laughing, laughing the rest of the way to preschool.

Yep, I'll keep him. Keep 'em both, actually. They're so good for me.