sprout

We returned from our travels last night, and I promise words and pictures soon. But first, a couple of updates.

Firstly, Happy Birthday, Mom! Jaime turns 28 today. No longer in her mid-twenties or really even a "twenty-something," but more a "pre-thirties". Lets all join hands and wish her Many Many Years!

Secondly, we celebrated Jaime's big day with a special trip to the doctor's office for David's "Four-month" checkup and piercing.

The doctor says that he is doing great. He has mastered all of the things that a four-monther is supposed to have mastered. Additionally, he is vocalizing at a six-month-old level. He gets that from me. I vocalize at that level, too. Then she challenged him to a game of chess, which he won easily, which is good. When he loses, he spits up on the board and it's a pain to get that gook out of the knooks in the rooks.

He is 16 pounds, 2.8 ounces, and 26.5 inches long-- one half inch longer than what his car seat is rated at. So we had to walk him home. His weight is still average, but his height is in the 87th percentile, the same percentage as the five-year survival rate of heart-transplant patients at the University of Washington--well above the national average.

Lastly came the shots. This time, instead of watching his legs, where all the action was, I stayed focused on his face. I distracted him with Grover, which was making him giggle. Then, suddenly the grin was replaced with a startled look that I can only describe as "%*$#!" This time he cried less but I cried more.

At four-and-a-half months, he is a joy and a blessing. He talks and grins and plays and rolls over and holds his little feet with his little hands and sucks and drools and (still) barfs. He is also going through some weird night-time thing where he spends some time screaming for no apparent reason and can only be comforted by someone standing. He is also getting more difficult to feed--fighting and tugging with impatience at his mother. We fear that we are going to have to cut back on breast feeding--or perhaps wean him completely. Two nights ago, we were at grandpa Gary's and he was throwing fits all night but refused to be calm long enough to feed. A packing error left us without formula and we had to find a 24-hour Walgreen's at 4:30 in the morning to buy some.

But he travels like a cute-but-seasoned professional--more on that to come.

Stay tuned, chess fans.