Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner.

So our pediatrician walks into the room for Alex's 18 month checkup on Wednesday and boisterously announces, "This is a sad visit."

I was like, "Como say whaaa?"

Apparently, after the 18 month visit, there are no more "baby" checkups. He's officially launched into "toddler" status and only goes for annual well visits.

TRAGIC.

Regardless, time marches on. And since I never did get around to posting his 15 month stats, here's his 15 and 18 month measurements all rolled into one gratuitous, self-serving post.

15 Month Checkup - Weight: 22 lbs. (10-25th %ile); Length: 31 in. (50th %ile); Head: 47.8 cm. (50/75th %ile)
18 Month Checkup - Weight: 22 lbs. 14 oz. (10/25th %ile); Length: 32.75 in. (50/75th %ile); Head: 48 cm. (50/75th %ile)

So there you have it. He's a tall, skinny kid. Not super sure where he gets the skinny part from, but I've encouraged him to ride that train as far as it'll take him.

Perfection.

Today I was going to blog about something. I was going to be charming, witty, delightful, etc., etc. I was going to use my literary genius to make you love and adore me more than you already do.

But instead, I've been bamboozled into the perfect morning. I'm sitting here in my dimly lit dining room with a delicious cup of Christmas Blend Starbucks (I made Joe save ONE bag for when I wasn't PG); Alex is sleeping soundly in his swing next to the running dishwasher (awesome mom trick #23,559; washer/dryer has the same effect); hubby just smooched me goodbye on his way off to work; and the adjacent windows are open and it's gloriously warm outside and also raining cats and dogs. The. Perfect. Morning.

I shall revel in this moment while I peruse the other blogs I stalk read. Then, it's time to finish packing for Sister Weekend 2009. That's right, the girls are goin' OUT! We're off to Muskegon for the Miss Michigan pageant and to generally cause other shenanigans on the West side of the Mitten. (For those not in the know, my sister is sort of a big deal. Click here, here, or here for details.)

PS - My road trip also means it's Joe's first ever solo time with Alex. Perhaps we can have him guest blog about his experience next week?

PPS - (Or is it PSS? I always screwed it up in love notes as a youth.) We gave Alex a bath last night and I used these ready-to-use-pre-soaped-disposable nighttime washcloths. Mom rating? 10+++++!!! This particular box was a gift, but I am totally and completely prepared to pay out the nose to buy more. They are fan-freaking-tastic AND there's a "regular" version. I know, I know...I can get the same thing from a far cheaper bottle of nighttime wash and a washcloth, but I'm still not totally a fan of bath time and will do anything to reduce my anxiety over it. And it's not because I think Alex is going to drown or anything, I just don't like that he can't play and enjoy it just yet. I'm weird. I know. Oh, and the matching nighttime lotion? Smells delicious!

Scrub-A-Dub-Dub.

Alex got his first bath the other night - it was so much fun! Since his cord hasn't fallen off yet we gave him what my Grandpa would call a "whore's bath." No soaking, just a scrub with a washcloth and a good ol' shampoo.

He LOVED the shampoo...gets that from his daddy. However, he was notsomuch a fan of the scrubbing and rinsing parts as indicated by this pic:




As I believe Alex himself mentioned in his own blog post, he will NOT be a fan of the baptismal font. Speaking of le baptism, I called our pastor today to get that scheduled. I'm hoping to be able to do it on Mother's Day...that would be cool. I'll know more when I get a call back.

And I'm sure I sound like a broken record, but I promise to get to the birth story soon. I honestly pick up my computer 3 times a day to do it, but reliving that experience isn't something I'm ready for just yet. I promise, promise, promise to do it within the week.

Alex, I'll just say "you're welcome" in advance for not posting horrifically embarrassing pictures of your first bath. You know, the ones of you laid out spread-eagle for all the world to see? You will thank me when you're 13 and all your little girlfriends are stalking my blog archives to find incriminating pictures to giggle over. I love you too, sweetie.

And to the 13 year old girls reading my blog in the future, stay away from my son. He can't date until he's 30.