Norah went in for her six month well baby visit on Tuesday this week. She got two shots, two cheetah print bandaids and proven that those rolls on her thighs are here to stay. She doesn’t handle shots very well and this batch has been no exception. Therefore the Advil bottle she is chewing on is a prop, you know to commemorate how crappy her shots made her feel. Not at all a moment of weakness in my parenting where I decided it’d be easier to just let her go ahead and chew on the bottle of medicine rather than deal with the inevitable tears that would come from safely taking away the bottle. I’m delighted I could photograph my shortcomings and broadcast them on the internet.
She is in the 90th percentile for her height and 50th for her weight. The nurse said she’s jealous. We could only dream of such proportions.
I must admit I didn’t understand what the percentiles meant until just recently, or more accurately, I didn’t care about them until my kids got up into the 90s. All of the sudden I felt pretty proud that they’re taller than 90% of other kids their age. Because you know, it’s all about winning and beating all those other short babies. Take that 75th percenters.
This doctor visit was very enlightening. I really like my pediatrician because he’s all about making you feel like you’re a great parent. I ask all sorts of stupid things and he may laugh a little but is always quite reassuring that I’m not an idiot and my children are normal. In fact he used threw around the word normal a lot this visit. It’s what I like to hear. And something you’d think I wouldn’t like to hear, but I was in fact glad to is that you shouldn’t expect your six month old to be sleeping through the night. It makes sense because every effort I’ve made to get her there hasn’t worked, no matter what the books say. She just needs to eat once at night and that’s okay. Hearing this was quite reassuring, even if it does mean I’m bound to never get more than four hours sleep in a block for three more months.
This appointment mainly reminded me that hey! Norah’s still a baby. Somewhere along the line I kind of just wished her to be a one year old (maybe because she’s the size of her sister when she was a year old?) and managed to forget she’s still just a wee little babe. This sounds pretty dumb, seeing as she’s here and she’s in fact a baby who nurses, sleeps all day, wakes up at night and needs her mommy all day everyday. But she’s also sitting up by herself, standing up assisted, clapping and I swear to god she signs for milk.
So perhaps I’ll stop wishing away these precious baby days and enjoy her for what she is; a sweet, chubby-thighed, bald headed baby with a smidge of cradle cap and a smile that turns me into a woman who talks in a silly baby voice.
That being said, you can’t blame a woman for wanting to sleep through the night for just.one.damn.night.