Willow and I ventured to the doctor's office this morning for her annual checkup (I suppose this is her first one, officially).
Everything checked out. Our girl is in tip-top shape.
So here we are, one year later, counting our blessings that Willow never got sick in her first year, except for a one-day bout with diarrhea (nasty stuff that was).
Willow measured in at 30 3/4 inches tall, 22 pounds and with a head 18 inches around. For those of you keeping score at home, she is very tall, measuring in the 95th percentile; bigger than most kids her age, weighing in at the 75th percentile and has a normal-sized head (I think she's kind of big-headed, but maybe that's just me).
Doc also was happy with all of Willow's development, her walking and talking and pointing and smiling and all that stuff.
Willow got three shots and a prick on the finger. She cried a little for the first two shots, which I honestly don't recall what they were for. She really cried out for the third shot, which was a poke in the arm delivering the chicken pox vaccine. But she clutched Duckie even harder and pulled through it.
She was in high spirits when we walked to the lab to get a blood test for lead (Doc routinely does this for 1-year-olds).
Willow smiled, yes, SMILED when the nurse pricked her finger, then Willow laughed, yes, LAUGHED when the nurse started squeezing blood from my girl's fingertip. For Willow's superhero attitude during the blood work, she got a superhero bandage, Iron Man to be exact.
But the nurse should have known better. Willow needs no stinking bandages.
She had ripped off all four of them by the time we got home.
Everything checked out. Our girl is in tip-top shape.
So here we are, one year later, counting our blessings that Willow never got sick in her first year, except for a one-day bout with diarrhea (nasty stuff that was).
Willow measured in at 30 3/4 inches tall, 22 pounds and with a head 18 inches around. For those of you keeping score at home, she is very tall, measuring in the 95th percentile; bigger than most kids her age, weighing in at the 75th percentile and has a normal-sized head (I think she's kind of big-headed, but maybe that's just me).
Doc also was happy with all of Willow's development, her walking and talking and pointing and smiling and all that stuff.
Willow got three shots and a prick on the finger. She cried a little for the first two shots, which I honestly don't recall what they were for. She really cried out for the third shot, which was a poke in the arm delivering the chicken pox vaccine. But she clutched Duckie even harder and pulled through it.
She was in high spirits when we walked to the lab to get a blood test for lead (Doc routinely does this for 1-year-olds).
Willow smiled, yes, SMILED when the nurse pricked her finger, then Willow laughed, yes, LAUGHED when the nurse started squeezing blood from my girl's fingertip. For Willow's superhero attitude during the blood work, she got a superhero bandage, Iron Man to be exact.
But the nurse should have known better. Willow needs no stinking bandages.
She had ripped off all four of them by the time we got home.
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