All the kids had orthodontist appointments and wellchecks this week for a total of 5 long appointments. (There went all the coupon clipping savings). Sam was relieved to find out he doesn't get braces until he's eleven or twelve and said he's going to enjoy every skittle and starburst until then. The doctor's appointment revealed that he's as perfect as can be for height and weight. But this chart showed how much he'd weigh and how tall he'd be as a grown up if he stayed on the projected path.
"Look at this, Sam," I said. "If you keep at these percentiles it looks like you'll be as tall, if not taller, than your dad."
"Aaaahhhhh, Nooooo," he groaned. "I don't want to be as tall as Dad."
Mike turned to him. "What? Why not?"
Without missing a beat, he offered his toothy grin and replied, "Cause it's easier to win the limbo if you're short."
He went back to reading Baby Blues comic books, which I never should have allowed my children to check out--they all love them, and awhile later he came to me, again sporting his grin. "Hey, Mom," he said, "you know about how you had the 3 of us . . . well, we're sorry we destroyed all your brain cells."
He watched my eyebrow slowly go up and took off running and giggling knowing I would surely come after him.
No comments:
Post a Comment