...which in French means "Big Head." That was my dad's nickname for a guy I used to date, way back before the Marcus era. Today, however, that could be used to refer to my son. We had his 15 month well baby appointment today. And? Let's just say that if a big head is a sign of intelligence, Dean is probably going to win the Nobel Prize someday. Here's the stats:
Weight: 23 pounds 12 1/2 oz. (25th percentile)
Height: 30 1/2 inches (50th percentile)
Head: 19 inches (90th percentile!! Go, Dean!)
He walked around the exam room in his diaper, socks and Robeez shoes so he could show off his mad skillz to his doctor. She was very impressed. He got two shots and he was NOT happy about it! These two must have really hurt. He screamed like he's never screamed before, then took a two-hour nap. Poor baby guy. Once he woke up, it was back to his usual charming self, though. He ate 4 pounds of blueberries and played in the kitchen while we made dinner. He even made it to his normal bed time.
I am trying to get motivated to go and do some grading. When I'm at home, there is always a distraction, so I can't fully concentrate on it. I'm hoping I can talk the Manny into staying a little late tomorrow so I can just go lock myself in my office after class and get it all done. Of course, that means I'm away from Dean a couple of extra hours, but we will make up for it in the car on Thursday. My mom is having hip replacement surgery on Wednesday (please pray for her), so Dean and I are going up this weekend to check on her and see the fam. And I'm making carrot cake cookies for her to have as a hospital snack. If they're good, maybe I'll give you the recipe for Comfort Food Saturday. If they're bad, I'm throwing them over the fence for the deer and we will never speak of them again.
It is going to be unseasonably cold here tonight and we are even expecting snow flurries. In Alabama. In April. Come on. Remember all those herbs and such that I planted? They are currently under huge white bed sheets, my attempt at keeping them from freezing to death. It looks like my garden dressed up as a ghost for Halloween. I'm sure the neighbors are talking about me. I'm sure I don't care. Their dogs spent all day eating a dirty diaper out of their trash can and flinging it all over their yard. And I'm pretty sure they stole my newspaper last week. (The dogs, not the neighbors.)