He is still twenty six inches tall. Sigh. Guess he'll be the same height as the other two. He's seventeen pounds and eleven ounces, and I didn't get the head circumference, but trust me. It's WAY smaller than Scott's was :)
He can sit, unassisted, for a few minutes, if you sit him up. He can't quiet figure out how to get into that position on his own. He thinks this is great fun, probably because he knows that this is bringing him closer and closer to his dream- being able to play with Ava and Scott.
He can also rock up onto his hands and knees, but when he gets there, he just wiggles around until he flattens back out. He can scoot anywhere he needs to get, so I guess that's good enough for him for now.
Lemme rant for a sec about his appointment while I'm here. Now, I knew I was going to miss my beloved Naval Medical Center Portsmouth. But I had no idea how horrified I would be when I drove down to the clinic at Groton today. Naturally, the appointment was booked incorrectly and for some reason, the desk clerk decided that it was my duty to try and fix that. She wanted me to go down to medical records and enroll him in ahlta (altha? alta? I used it for five years and I don't actually know what it's called. it's pronounced 'alta') Anyway, what? No, I'm not going to do your job for you!
So then we finally get back to see the doctor, and I mean absolutely NO OFFENSE to anyone out there, but when I go to a military facility, I expect to be seen by a military provider. It's just one of my quirks, I trust them more. I don't care if it's a nurse practitioner (my preference) or an actual doctor, I just want them to be in uniform. I just trust them better!
So our two hundred year old civilian provider walks in and starts talking to me about some Korean couple that he saw once (what?!?!) and the fact that they're out of one of the vaccines. Whatever dude, I don't care. He listens to Warren's heartbeat while he's in my lap, asks me if his testicles are descended, and walks out. Yes, you heard that right.
He ASKED me, the patient's mother, who as far as he's concerned doesn't even have a high school education, if his patients testicles are descended. WHAT?!?! He didn't look in my baby's ears, or eyes, or feel his tummy, or check his legs like they do, like at his hips? He didn't take off his diaper. He didn't put him on the exam table, or even LAY HIS HANDS ON MY SON!!!
As he was walking out, I blurted out something about the fact that Warren is STILL spitting up too much. He turned back and said "I don't typically medicate children for their parent's convenience." At which time he noticed, as I was getting Warren dressed, the huge birthmark on his arm. So he says "Has he always had that?" I say yes, and he leaves.
I literally just sat there for a moment wondering if that had really just happened. I mean, I'm a reasonably educated nurse and this is my third child in four years, so I know that Warren is healthy, but this a hole didn't know that. He didn't know us from Adam, and he didn't even care! I've never ever even once been disappointed with Navy medicine, but now, I'm just devastated. I just can't believe he treated us like that!!!
Ugh. Thanks for letting me vent.