I already blogged twice today, but neither one of them really felt like they counted.
Today was Thumper's four-month check-up. I tried weighing him a couple of weeks ago and came up with 17 lbs., but as I've suspected, our bathroom scale is a dirty rotten liar that wants us to believe we weigh more than we really do. Turns out he weighs 15 lbs. 14 oz. For some reason, I find myself slightly disappointed. Apparently I want him to be exceptional in all things, and the 70th to 80th percentiles that he's in on all his measurements just aren't exceptional enough for me. God help this kid when he gets into school and is bringing home B's and C's. Sorry in advance, Thumper. Your daddy's kind of crazy and wants you to be a freakishly tall super-genius. Who can live up to that kind of pressure?
Sorry also, son, for letting them stab you again. And again and again and again. It was all my fault, and your mother had nothing to with it. She tried to save you, but I held her back. Pain builds character; it's a father's job to teach you that. Now go to sleep.
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Dear Thumper,
Your mommy and daddy loves you like crazy, but unfortunately there's this thing called "modern medicine", and it keeps children from getting all kinds of horrible sicknesses. You might feel a little funny at first, but I promise, you'll never remember it.
Remember - Your mom and dad love you like crazy.
Signed,
A concerned bystander
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