Soaring to New Heights
Filed under: Growing Pains
Today we had well visits for both Big I and Lil C. It was fun, let me tell you. Of the two: a 5-year old or a 6-month old, who would you guess would be the problem child? If you guessed the 5-year old, you would be correct. Big I is an awesome kid; she just doesn’t particularly care for doctors. If mothers earned "belts" for accomplishments in motherhood the way students earn belts in karate, I would be a black belt easily after making it through today.
Unfortunately, my eldest daughter takes after me. I hate doctors, always have, and always will. This is why I had a midwife deliver Lil C, because I was not going through it with an MD again. From the moment Big I woke up today, she was MISERABLE, whining, complaining, and asserting that she simply would not go to the doctor’s appointment; she would instead hide and we would "never ever ever find her." In the end, she dragged her sad little feet out the front door and into the car. As we pulled in to the doctor’s office, she left out one final wail of defeat. Lil C sat there smiling at her.
I honestly don’t know which is worse: having to go twice (once for each kid), or going once and getting it over with. We left this house at 2 p.m. We returned home at 3:50. The doctor was running an hour behind. NIGHTMARE much? When we finally made it back to the check-up room, my husband and I had to split up. I went with Big I for height/weight, eyes, and ears. This was the first time that Big I had to do the hearing and vision tests. You would have thought she was having teeth pulled. I honestly felt like the child had eaten lead for breakfast and that it had settled in her feet as I dragged her from ear test to vision test and back to the exam room.
Lil C? Smiled at the nurse weighing her and reached up for her to hold her. My husband definitely had the easier job.
When the doctor finally came in, Lil C grinned ear to ear at him. Big I sulked and cowered in the chair beside her daddy. She went first and did fine, except for the fact that every question the doctor asked her, had the response of "doh," Homer Simpson style instead of a simple, "no." She finished up and Lil C was ready to roll.
When Big I was a baby (and even now), the doctor had to take our word for it that she could: roll, sit up, push up, stand up, etc. She never behaved particularly well at the doctor’s office. After she turned a year old, I needed to start training in order to be in shape enough to hold the child at the doctor’s office. I left in a sweat each time and with a massive headache. Lil C is nothing short of a show-off. When placed on her belly, and the doctor asked us if she was pushing up or attempting to crawl, she got onto her hands and knees as if on cue and started rocking back and forth while cracking up laughing.
The doctor finished up and the nurses came in to double team Big I since she needed two vaccines. We were of the "wait and see if she gets the pox" thinking. She didn’t get it, so she had to get that today in order to enter school in the fall. She also needed a DTaP vaccine. She squirmed and cried, yelled and moaned, and only stopped after we were back inside the safety of our home for a while. As we were exiting the doctor’s office, I’m pretty sure she scared the daylights out of at least three waiting room dwelling children with her proclamations of, "It HURT sooooo bad," and "My arms hurt." Throughout the evening, she still had an occasional crying jag, just thinking about the horrible horror nightmarish hell of it all. Lil C had to get one vaccine today. She pouted and started to fuss and then wrapped it up with a grin within about 10 seconds. Could these girls be more different?
So, after all the measurements today, here’s how the gals stack up:
Big I- 97th percentile for height; between 75th-90th for weight
Lil C- off the charts for height and has been for the last three visits; between 75th-90th for weight
It got me to thinking about how tall they will be when they’re fully grown. I went on those height predictors on the web at about.com and this is what it said about Big I.
Your Child’s Predicted Height Results:
A (female) child who is 3 feet and 9.25 inches at 5 years of age has a predicted future height of:
172.5 cm, or
5 feet 7.9 inches
This seemed rather short to me considering the skyscraper genes that this child has. So, I plugged in the numbers based on my height (5’9") and my husband’s height (6’3") and it told me this:
Your Child’s Genetic
Potential for height is:
5 feet 9.5 inches
I was still a little surprised. Reason being? My mother is 5’4". My dad is 5’10". I am 5’9". So, I plugged in my parent’s heights; and apparently I have exceeded my genetic potential and then some because I got this:
Your Child’s Genetic
Potential for height is:
5 feet 4.5 inches
So, based on this, I am going to add 4.5" to Big I’s genetic potential height and that would make her 6′ 1.5" when full grown. Look out Gabby Reese! You may have some competition coming. Then again, considering all the drama today, Big I may be better suited for a career in theater. We’ll find out soon because she just started an acting class. I’m hoping that maybe she’ll learn how to at least act the part of a warrior at karate class. And, let’s be perfectly honest, isn’t every parent secretly hoping their kid hits it big and eventually buys them a beach house as thanks for all those classes that were so crucial during the formative years?
To be honest though, I’m just glad today’s festivities are officially over. I’ll worry about the beach house later.
Good night, sleep tight; let’s move the crib into our room tonight. . .
It was inevitable. Lil C had completely outgrown her cradle. It was time for her to move into her crib. So, I did what any mentally sound mother would do. . .
I made my husband completely dismantle the crib, piece by painstaking piece (It is from IKEA after all), and move it into our bedroom. I honestly don’t even know why we bothered making a nursery. I mean, it HAD to be done before I gave birth, in a four day frenzy of paint fumes and exhaustion (otherwise known as intense nesting), but for what? The glider has been moved from the nursery to the master bedroom, and now the crib has followed.
I am happy to report that Lil C is sleeping quite well in her crib. I made my husband move the crib to our room because while Lil C could roll from her back to her belly, she wasn’t able to get back again. That was, until last week, about two minutes after he moved the crib into our room. Now, as soon as I lay her down she flips over onto her belly and she sleeps like a dream. Yeah, yeah, "back to sleep" and all that other good stuff; but the kid can roll like a champ now so I’m not concerned.
Speaking of which, when I left Lil C for a whole 30 seconds to go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, this happened. . .
When I left the room to make my tea, Lil C was on her quilt over by the toy next to the blue sofa. No, not the centipede toy, not the plastic keys, she was playing with the complicated looking toy way over in the back of the picture, on her back. Is it just me, or does she look as surprised as I was when I returned to the room? But I digress. . .
This whole crib sleeping thing marks the first time that one of my offspring has slept in a crib all night long. Big I had the same crib, but she never slept in it. She always slept in our bed. When she turned two, we bought her a full size mattress and put it on the floor. She’s a long kid and after two years of sharing a bed with her, my husband and I knew that a twin bed would not ever work for her. While my husband and I prefer to put our heads on the pillows, Big I thought that Mommy’s back made a nice place to grind her head into and Daddy’s nether regions were a more than appropriate place for middle of the night leg slams. (It’s a wonder Lil C was even able to exist after the abuse he took.)
While we loved sharing a bed with Big I, we also equally love the fact that Lil C is perfectly fine sleeping on her own. She has always been a great sleeper and slept through the night at 3.5 weeks. And no, it wasn’t because we were putting ground beef in a bottle for her. (Seriously, I know someone who did that!) The kid gets her food the most natural way possible and always has; she just happens to be in love with sleep about as much as I am.
I Wish I Was a Little Bit Taller; I Wish I was a Baller…
Today was an absolutely beautiful day and so we spent most of it outside. Our first outing was to the park. Big I wanted to play on the playground. My husband had a different idea. Considering Big I will soon be five and she’s as tall as the average 7-year old, my husband is convinced that she will be a stellar basketball player and that it is his mission in life to help her get there. That’s all fine and good, but I keep telling him he needs to face the fact that Big I may have inherited my basketball genes, and that is simply not good. My husband also insists that with the proper training, at 5’9" I "should be" good at basketball too. Although I hit that height in about the 9th grade, field hockey was always my sport and basketball and I just never meshed. Honestly, I never understood a sport that has such ridiculously high scores. I mean, seriously, at least hockey players appreciate every goal they score because they may have worked 20 minutes or more for it. How exciting is it when there’s a point every two seconds? But anyway, back to the park. . .
While I set up camp on the bench with the sleeping Lil C, Mr. B coaxed Big I out onto the court as she longingly looked at the playground equipment. Picture this, Daddy wearing sweatshirt, gym shorts, baseball hat and sneakers bounding off to the basketball court with energy. In direct contrast, Big I is wearing flowered capri pants, light-up magic wand sneakers, a pink princess shirt, and her prized Disney Princess sun hat, dragging those light up shoes along the grass like she was a dead man walking. Despite this, it started out well enough, with my husband lifting Big I up to shoot baskets. But then my husband decided it was time to practice passing. "Let’s pass the ball," he said excitedly as he tossed the ball in her direction. Let’s just say that what happened next can only be described as Big I trying to catch the ball with her nose. It wasn’t pretty. Crying erupted, tears rolled their way down her face, and I seriously thought all was lost. We made our way to the playground as we wiped tears and this time it was Daddy dragging his feet.
The playground proved to be quite fun though. My husband and I decided that we should all play a spirted game of tag. Mr. B and I decided to play all out and chased each other around the playground until we were out of breath (about two minutes). Big I didn’t quite get it. She was "it" and ran towards me to tag me. I stopped and faced her, squatting slightly so I could easily get away in either direction. She took it as an attack stance and ran the opposite direction screaming. We tried to explain that she was "it," so there was no reason for her to run from us, but it just didn’t sink in. She continued to play on the playground while Mr. B and I toyed with the idea of starting an adult tag league. We finally gave up on the playground since Mr. B convinced Big I that it was time for Part II of basketball training.
We made our way over to the court, with Lil C still sleeping soundly in her stroller. It was soon obvious that Big I had absolutely no interest. I thought I would try to encourage her and asked Mr. B if he’d like to play HORSE. Big I could be my helper, which consisted of us cheating by stealing the ball from Daddy whenever possible. There was lots of whining from Big I, and I wasn’t too happy either as I quickly became a "HO." Soon after my husband found it hysterically funny that I was now a "HOR." As he laughed, the inevitable happened. . . the basketball hit the backboard and beaned Big I right in the side of the head. This time the crying was about twice as loud and we knew our time at the park was over. We drove away from the park with Daddy trying to convince Big I that no one is good when they first start playing. I tried to convince Mr. B to come to grips with the fact that I very well may have given birth to someone who would just rather sing princess ballads than play sports. Sigh. . .
Basketball Daddy? Did Cinderella play basketball? I think NOT! And in case you were wondering, YES, those are socks on my hands! I prefer to call them "gloves."
NOISE!!!
A few days ago, my 5-month old started a new sound. It’s something like a deep inhale, a noisy gasp for air, that had me thinking that something was definitely wrong. Granted, I’ve been around the parenting block once before so I should know that new sounds happen. It’s just that "Lil C" is so good at making these sounds that are so unique and LOUD, that sometimes they kind of scare me. "Big I" was a much more quiet baby. So, it’s taken some getting used to, the fact that Lil C is always trying to outdo her sister. It scared me until I noticed the sheer joy on her face after said sound was once again made. I guess Lil C figures she has to keep up with her big sister who has no shortage of "sounds" to put it nicely. It seems that Lil C has to continue inventing new sounds just to try to keep up with her Big Sister who happens to have big sounds constantly lately.
Want to know why??? It’s March. . . birthday March. For at least the past three years, March has arrived with a new temperament for Big I. Last year, when the birthday song singing commenced, my turning 4 year old, disappeared from the dining room with grandeur, screaming at the top of her lungs. As I was pregnant at the time and extremely emotional, I about cried on the carefully prepared Little Mermaid cake before Big I eventually decided that she would come down for cake and to continue her party, but only if we all promised there would be no singing. There was no singing, the party resumed and Big I started the beginning of the terrible 4’s, which are way worse (in my professional parenting opinion) than any terrible 2’s that could ever come my way. No one ever tells you about the Terrible 4’s! Terrible 2’s times two because they come with ATTITUDE!
Now, only nine days into March, Big I has started what I will lovingly refer to as "The Boisterous 5’s." In like a lion, these past few days have been full of all out screaming. The theory behind this one is, "she who screams loudest wins." When she doesn’t like the instructions you just gave her. . .talk louder than Mommy and she thinks she wins. When Daddy and Mommy are having a conversation and she wants to be heard, talk louder than both combined, double points. Big I has forced me to wonder why when children are born, there are not volume controls attached. It certainly would make parenting a bit easier. . .
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