Tale of the Tape

Last week was a very busy week for our little angel. If Finley could talk, there would be basically one thing she would say… “It’s hard being popular.” It’s true. Between her play sessions and her modeling duties and all her scheduled appearances a girl barely has time for beauty naps.

Last week, as I mentioned, was her first week of daycare. And despite a little trepidation from her representation, she had a successful first five days at school. The only real downside is that, at least for now, she’s not getting much sleep during the day. This is probably due to a combination of the new surroundings and the noise from the other kids. She does, however, catch up on her lost sleep at home which unfortunately means less face time with mom and dad. But we know that will change as she adjusts and grows.

Speaking of growing, our little celeb also had a doctor appointment last week. It was her four-month checkup (can you believe she’s four months old?) and we arrived bright and early to her pediatrician’s office. Dr. Zimburean and her nurse gave Finley her 14-point checkup which was more like measuring and weighing a prize watermelon or a super, super flyweight boxer. After a few minutes of poking, prodding and lots of notes we got the results.

Finley weighed in at 15lbs, 3.5 oz and has stretched out to 26-1/4 inches in length. According to the national average, she landed in the 80^th and 97^th percentiles, respectively, for babies her age. But it was her head that was a bit surprising. The circumference is 43.3 cm, which turns out is only in the 25^th percentile.

At first, that seemed a little small. But then we thought about it. We like the size of her head. Heather, especially, was fond of its smallness during labor. And it’s not like she has a pinhead. I even think her cheeks make up for what the rest of her noggin is lacking. We’re quite happy she doesn’t have some freakishly gigantic cranium, like dad. In fact, she looks pretty darned perfect to me.

Once we got the tale of the tape, it was time for the most dreaded part of the visits to Dr. Z’s office. It was time for four immunizations. It really is a terrible thing to have to go through. So awful, that mommy decides she needs to go set up the next appointment with the receptionist. That leaves daddy to be the pillar of strength that he is.

The hardest part of all of this is that you tell yourself the shots are for a reason and that they will only help her be a healthy and happy baby. But you know the truth. You remember the flu and tetanus shots from your youth. And if you were lucky like me, you wound up in the hospital with pneumonia when you were seven and they discovered that you had adverse reactions to the penicillin shots they’d been giving you for three days.

So, with those memories floating to the top of your 90^th percentile head you watch your daughter’s face as she grips your fingers and looks at you, innocently. Then you see the quizzical look on her face as the first needle goes in. It’s uncomfortable, but she’s more startled than hurt. Then number two goes in and she looks at you as if to say, “Okay, what’s going on?” And she cries a little. It’s not too bad, really. Not more than expected, anyway.

Then the nurse turns to me and says, “The third one always hurts the most. The medicine must have something that stings in it.” Thanks. And sure enough, Finley confirms her theory. I love my daughter’s high-pitched squeals when she’s laughing. But I absolutely hate hearing her cry in pain. It’s the worst sound, ever. Mainly because you know you can’t do anything about it except try to calm her down.

If there’s a bright side to shot number three, it’s that the pain of it almost covers the fourth and final shot. Almost. Four shots. Two in each tiny leg. I do have to say that my little girl is a trooper. It’s true she screamed and cried. But only for a few seconds. By the time the nurse had finished and I had her up in my arms, she had quieted to a couple of sobs. In fact, when I brought her out to mama, you would hardly have noticed that she had been injected at all. The rest of the day, she was lethargic as expected. She wasn’t her happy, excited self. But who could blame her?

Fortunately for us, she’ll never remember going through all of this. All of the sick anticipation, the sight of the needles and the need to get away. And that was just mommy and daddy. It turns out, as I’m sure it will in the future, that our little girl is stronger at facing the scary stuff than we are. We worry about her and don’t want her to have any pain, but the reality is that she’ll be fine facing it by herself. But that’s a long ways away. For now, I’m fine with just holding her when she cries.