Nathan had his two-year appointment last week. He weighs 33.6 pounds or 92%, he towers at 36.25 inches or 83% and his head circumference is 52.7 cm or off the freaking charts. The nurse had to measure his head twice because she was sure the number was wrong; his head couldn’t possibly be growing at that rate unless he was the elephant man/boy. She didn’t say that last part, but if my son did have some cranial deformity, it would explain why labor hurt like a mother and why my vagina has about as much area as a Hawaiian golf course.
This kid is strong. He’s already outgrowing his size 9 shoes. I have to buy 2T-3T for his pants, but up to 4T in shirts just so it can slip easily over that virtual planetoid and to keep myself from saying, “Head! Paper! Now!”
He’s finally talking, not at the level that those cold pediatric books recommend, but enough for me to know that some wheels are turning in that huge noggin of his and I won’t have to regret all the times in his infancy when I let The Sopranos play in the background. He repeats all the words we say to him like “Obama,” and he can easily follow multi-step directions like, “Go to the table and bring Mommy the remote control.” Sometimes he’ll walk to the table, look back at me like he has short term memory loss and has forgotten in those five steps what his assignment was even though I’m yelling and pointing, “BRING! MOMMY! THE! REMOTE! IT IS THE ONLY REMOTE ON THE TABLE!” And I should just get up and retrieve it myself, but instead, I continue this useless round of charades with, “FIRST WORD! SOUNDS LIKE REMOTE CONTROL!”
Next week, we are taking a family vacation to DISNEYLAND. While you sexy ladies are at BlogHer and living la vida Boca with my friend Linda, I will be in the happiest place on earth, angrily shoving my way through the turnstiles so my family can be the first in line for Finding Nemo.
This will be the first time for Mike and Nathan to meet my sister Bobbie, her husband and their three beautiful daughters. This will also be the first time I will have seen my sister in FIVE YEARS. That number is enough for me to weep big pansy tears. I told Mike that I might cry if I see my sister and he said that the emotion isn’t valid if you plan on it. I disagree–how many times do women (and some dudes–heeyyy!) watch The Notebook because you know it’ll make you get all sobby and red-faced?
I’ve done a rough count of total people attending including my mom, my aunt, my other sister and her children, my brother and his wife and son, and so far I have twenty-five people. If you have any tips on how to manage Disneyland without going batshit crazy, please let me know. I’m reading this book to find out what to do about food (specifically, if you can bring food into the park–no? yes? and how much?), if it’s worth bringing my humongous camera and if buying a toddler leash is worth it. I’m scared that Nathan will run off and I will lose him forever. Normally, if I’m trying to coax him out of whatever toddler den he’s run into, I say, “Susu! Nathan come out for the susu!” (Susu means boobs in Chamorro) I don’t think that Walt Disney would approve boob-luring devices, but hey, they don’t mind when I bring out the twins at Target.