The Shots Heard ‘Round Los Angeles
Miss Skye went to the doctor for her two-month checkup last week. This is the visit where she received her first round of immunization shots. Oh, you should have heard the screams! Mine, not hers. Thankfully, Mr. Candy was able to join us because I knew I’d be a wreck. Hell, I’ve fainted from just HEARING the word “needle” before, so seeing one of those torture devices inflicting pain on my CHILD…?
Well, let’s just say I haven’t fought back tears like that since I let my stylist give me blunt bangs in 2007.
Skye was none too pleased either. These shots, from what I could glean from her reaction, are apparently akin to getting your teeth extracted with pliers while being forced to watch “The Hottie and the Nottie” on continuous loop. Usually a content baby, Skye yelled bloody murder for a good minute while I held her and whispered in her ear that I would NEVER subject her to a Paris Hilton film. Then I put her in the Baby Bjorn and she promptly passed out.
She was probably dreaming of boobie juice — yes, that’s right, I just wrote “boobie juice” — because that girl LOVES to eat, as evidenced by her weigh-in: The chubster weighs 12 pounds, 1.5 ounces (85th percentile). She is also tall like her mama, measuring 23 1/2 inches (90th percentile). When I boasted about her length (us crazy parents will use any excuse to brag), my mom replied:
“Yeah, well, I was long when I was a baby, too.”
Mom is now 5’3″.
Skye’s head circumference, on the other hand, is only in the 50th percentile for a two-month-old. Our small-headed wonder! Odd, considering both Mr. Candy and I have huge noggins. Although it does explain why she swims in all of her hats. This is devastating for me because I am OBSESSED with baby hats. Obsessed with a capital OMIGOD, do I love baby hats. In fact, hats are really the only reason I had a baby in the first place. (Hats, and embarrassing Halloween costumes.) So to think that she will outgrow her clothes before she has a chance to wear the matching hats is almost awful enough to drive me to do something untenable — like get blunt bangs again.
Almost. Thankfully, I can still make the cats wear them!
(The hats, not the bangs. Unlike me, Marcy is smart enough to know the fringe bangs would not flatter her face shape.)