Ken took Reid to her 3-year-old checkup on Thursday. I’d planned to go, too. Both of us have attended all of her other checkups, even when I was home full-time and Ken had to take time off from work. I’ve taken Reid to walk-in clinics solo when she was sick but the checkup seems more substantial. So, I’m dealing with some mama guilt for not having gone because of a meeting. It was worse on Thursday, when I was wondering if I’d be able to make it, realizing I wouldn’t make it and then officially missing it.
Ken called just when my meeting was ending and I, in my private, selfish centre, thought “oh maybe they haven’t gone in yet.” I actually hoped it was thus. Of course, it would have meant Ken and Reid would have had to sit in the office for 80 minutes and I immediately banished the thought. I had to settle for an “everything went well” or something to that effect until I could see them. On the ride home, I tried to pry details out of Ken but he was concentrating on driving in heavy traffic. Isn’t he difficult? In the end, I learned that Reid is 96 centimetres tall (about 38 inches) and 14.something kilograms (31-33 pounds). The nurse had to record the information in metric but wanted to tell Ken the imperial measurements. My math prodigy husband doesn’t require such assistance and, in the end, we ended up with incomplete info in both systems. Reid is in the 65th percentile for height and about the same for weight. She is sliding down the curve for height, thanks to my genetic contributions. At last year’s checkup, she was still in the 95 percentile for height.
I know I’m obsessed with numbers but it, like being short, is in my nature. The long and short of it ;+) is that Reid is doing well. The doctor did say that it’s time for the dentist and optometrist to be added to the circle of people to whom we take Reid so that I have more to worry over. More on these adventures later.