Fenton is at that precious age of knowing all too well what's going on, but having no idea why it happens. He happily played in the lobby. He was charming to the nurses. He pointed to the dogs on the TV and the fish in the tank. But then he realized what was going on. Once we were in our room, the nurse came in and he was a bit unsure. When she brought out the measuring tape to measure his head, he was sure. Sure he didn't want to be there. Sure something bad, real bad, was about to happen.
After getting his height measured...
After a torturous height and weight measurement, she left and he calmed down, only to have the doctor come in and, get this, listen to his heart with a stethoscope! And if you thought that was bad (he did), looking in his ears might as well have been removing his fingernails. The poor guy was crying, clutching his Doodle Board as his only means of security (never mind that I am holding him), shaking and sobbing.
Finally, because no one could really talk over the screaming, the doctor left and Fenton started to regain his composure. But then the nurse came back in for his one single shot (and last one until he is four), which even though it took 1.2 seconds, you might have thought he was being stuck with needles for hours.
Despite all the fuss, the resilient little guy was happily squeaking on his walk back to the car, pointing out birds and squirrels.
Happy once again...
Data-lover that I am, here are the stats:
80% for height / 50% for weight. Yep...typical Orsetti spaghetti-monster kid.
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