The (Big) Boy

I was away at Las Vegas for an academic conference for a few days, during which my lovely wife shouldered the child burden full on. (By the way, Vegas is surreal enough, but imagine a gaggle of philosophers, psychologists, and neuroscientists meandering through casinos wearing nametags on lanyards, and you get surreal surreal.) My profession and schedule allow me lots of time with my kids, but rarely do I have them for 24 complete hours without relief, let alone 48. Respect, as my students might say.

In any event, we took The Boy to his four-year checkup this week. His annual last year was an eye-opener for me, primarily because the nurses and doctor spoke to him directly and not to or through me. Things this time followed a similar pattern, and when the nurse did ask me something (whether he can draw a square, for example), I asked him (turns out he can). He filled a specimen cup like I have to when I get my checkups (though he did so, unlike me, without a trace of self-consciousness). And this time he did manage to respond properly to the hearing test--except when Q said something right in his open ear in the middle of the beeps. After I took Q for a little walk, he finished fine with only his quiet mother watching.

In any event, here are the results:

Height: 3 ft. 5 1/4" (75th percentile)
Weight: 33.5 lbs. (25th percentile)
Everything else: Healthy.

He's so good at the doctor; he never cries however much they poke him with sharp things or shine lights in his eyes and ears. And they do poke him. A lot. Both he and Q score lollipops and stickers for their troubles.

It's obvious and cliché and everything but true just the same: He's changing fast and getting big. It's wonderful, actually.