1. He HATES wet diapers, and shrieks as soon as he pees. But he is content to hang out in the poopy ones until Mommies smell something.
2. His arms fly up involuntarily -- sometimes it is just one arm -- in a gesture Co calls "Fight the Power."
3. He weighs 8 lbs, 1 1/2 ounces (birth weight was 8 lbs 5 oz), is 20 1/2 inches long (19 1/2 at birth) and has a head circumference of 35.9 cm. These are the 28th, 40th, and 24th percentiles, respectively. (Yes, we just got home from the pediatrician. I am particularly pleased with the low percentile on the head circ, having had a number of basketball-headed male students. We'd still love him and all.)
4. He is the cutest boy in the whole world.
Pediatrician: She gave him a clean bill of health and said we shouldn't worry so much. She actually apologized for being mellow; I was delighted because that's exactly what I want in a pediatrician. (A brief digression: my own pediatrician, who delivered me at home, was also very mellow and low-intervention. My mom brought me to him in a panic when I got my first rash, and after he examined me he said solemnly, "Ah, yes. I know that rash. That's the 'vervase' rash." My mom repeated this and started to ask questions about it before catching on: "vervase" is Yiddish for "who knows?" Also funny is that his name is M@yer Eisen.stein, leading me to believe as a small child both that I had been delivered by the mayor of our city, as well Ein.stein.)
We had our first admiring comments from people on the street and the waiting room (oh. my. God. the waiting room was full of sick children; why would I take my baby there??). We also got our first official Neighborhood Drive-by, in the waiting room, but the woman also admired him properly enough so that I didn't feel too resentful (she said I should lower the handle of the Snugr*de from the "carry" position back to the "in the car" position now that he was inside).
One woman kept offering me a seat (as I said: *full* of sick children) while I was standing to make an appointment, and the nurse let me use their little nurse file room to put him in his snowsuit and arrange him in his carseat. As opposed to the people who watched while their phlegmy toddlers tripped me with toy cars as I tried to leave, balancing purse, diaper bag, coat, and carseat. (To be fair, the nice woman seemed to be there for a well baby visit, which could affect her mood; and I may yet be in the place of Phlegmy Toddler Parents. "If your slate is clean, then you can throw stones...".) (I don't quote musicals nearly enough in this blog. If you can identify that one, I'll be impressed.)
Birth Story soon.