The girls had their nine-month checkup today, and although the official milestone passed a few weeks ago, they've now been out-of-utero longer than they were in. I don't like to speak for them, but I think it's fair to say that if asked which they prefer, in mom or out of mom, they'd say out. More room to move around, more stuff to hear and see and taste. Mom and Dad are out here, plus cats and dogs and grandparents (in order of fascination). And there are definitely a lot more Cheerios here on the outside. Intact ones, that is.
No groovy musical instruments inside a uterus, either!
Since Alastair is away now -- we sent him off to the continent on Wednesday, where he arrived safely -- our friend Mara came to the doctor's appointment with me. Thank God. I don't know how I would have done it without her. When the girls were teeny tiny and content to sit in their carseats I might have been able to manage a solo doctor's visit (though I never had to), but with one crawling and one getting close, there's no way. Poor Mara got more than she bargained for, too: Not only did the girls get shots (flu vaccine), but they got blood drawn for lead and iron count testing. Ouch.
That is, Clio got blood drawn. The nurse wasn't able to tap a good vein in Elsa, and I had to sit holding her in my lap (Elsa, not the nurse. Settle down.) while the nurse wiggled the needle around inside her skin, looking for an in, and Elsa screamed bloody murder. I managed not to cry myself, but felt pretty damned awful about it. It looked like it was going to be the same for Clio (even louder screaming) but eventually it worked.
I guess babies have pretty small veins, so this is probably not uncommon. Right? Or did we get Jabby The Incompetent Nurse? She's a sweet lady. Every time we're there, she asks us in a low voice if we need formula and somehow manages to score us giant free cases of the stuff. Today she was pushing the free samples of Beech Nut cereal sitting out in a basket at the nurse's station. "Help yourself," she said. "Go ahead. Take a whole bunch. Take as much as you want."
Other than the blood and screaming, it was an excellent visit. The girls got a clean bill of health. Elsa weighed in at a sturdy 18 pounds 12 ounces, putting her in the 47th percentile for weight. She's in the 63rd for height. L'il baby Clio was 16 pounds 9 ounces, only in the 11th for weight and 28th for height, but she totally whooped Elsa in the head circumference category: 43rd percentile for Clio's giant noggin versus 24th for Elsa's. Either that or they were measured by Imprecisey the Other Incompetent Nurse. Because I swear Elsa's head is bigger than Clio's. Not that I put much weight on stats. But it is rather fascinating.
Does this look like a 24th percentile head to you?
Meanwhile, I'm both pleased and terrified to report that Clio is really starting to work the crawling thing. (Just in time for my month alone with them! Whoopie!) Today she several times got up on her hands and knees and started rocking on her own, and once she made a heroic effort to retrieve a pacifier just out of reach by going from a sitting position to a modified all-fours. Tonight she was even getting up onto her feet and hands, downward dog style. But -- this is the cutest thing ever -- sometimes in the midst of all this effort she puts her head down takes a little rest. Becoming mobile is hard work. Especially when you've got a 43rd percentile head on a 11th percentile body.
My head is so freakin' big!
