Monster Baby had her 1 year appointment yesterday. She gained 1 pound 4 ounces in the last 3 months. I was reassured that it was normal for babies weight gain to drop off when they are switched over to just table food. Good to know since she is now well below the 50th percentile for weight. We don't really know for height since she measured a 1/4 inch shorter than her last appointment, which is impossible. She got her chicken pox and pneumonia vaccines. She has 8 teeth and her reached all of the developmental goals the doctor looks for. The doctor believes that she is scared to walk alone. I find that weird since she is not afraid of diving off the bed head-first. On purpose, as far as I can tell.
While in the waiting room, I noticed a woman with a 6 month-ish baby and a 2nd grader. The 2nd grader held and played with the baby while the woman read a magazine. It made me realize how much I depend on the Hellion. When I need to get something done or just need a few minutes for my self, I can send the Monster Baby into the Hellion's room to play and I know everything will be fine. The Hellion will yell if I'm needed. I have no idea how people manage without an 8 year old helper. I guess I'm lucky, in a sense. Most former infertiles have their children back to back if at all possible just because you never know when that fertility will disappear again. Hell, that's what we are doing now. Most don't have the luxury of waiting years between their children. Unless of course, they are like me and had the first one easily. But, even then, most people don't choose to space their childen more than 7 years apart. Ok, I'm rambling. I'll just say - yeah, older children! - and move on.
The currently unborn child within had learned some new tricks. They include kicking for hours nonstop while I am tired and lying just right as to lean on some sort of nerve that causes pain to shoot down my inner right thigh when I try to walk. It gets to the point where I wish she would knock the kicking off, only for me to realize that the kicking means she's alive and well. Right, nevermind, carry on then.