Doctor says...

Well, where to begin...

Had my fifteen month check-up with Dr. Sultan. I like her, although I'm not quite sure why she always has to stick that cold piece of metal on my back. And then she moves it around as if sticking it on me once wasn't good enough. I tried reaching back there to grab her hand, thinking she'd get a clue, but no, she kept right on pressing that thing onto me. I'm okay with the ear thing, Mom's always poking a thermometer into my ear, better there than...And why is there a need to pry open my mouth with that giant popsicle stick when I obviously don't want you in there. That I hate the most. Makes me scream.

The doctor's office does have lots of cool stuff in it though, and since I've become quite adept at opening drawers and cabinet doors, I find all kinds of new things to get into. The doctor's chair, the one that spins. that's probably my favorite. I can't help but wonder though, why are the rooms so small? I mean really, I've got these great legs that carry me wherever I want to go with very little effort, and they put me in this tiny little room. I don't get it. But, I suppose it's all about numbers, so this is what Dr. Sultan sees when she looks at my growth chart:

Head: 18.5 inches
Weight: 21 pounds 2 ounces
Height: 32 inches

Can you believe that's all they care about? I can do so much more, like: banging my head on the floor for no apparent reason, recognizing my favorite colors in forms of movies on the DVD shelf (red and yellow), running like the wind, fits of anger that sometimes cause me to bite freakishly hard, and climbing up onto the couch. Just to name a few of my more prevalent talents.

So Dr. Sultan says I am good, look good (I already knew that though, get that from Mom), just need to eat (Is she nutty? Why would I put food in my mouth when there are so many other things to put in there?). Oh, and this nurse came out of the place where they jab pointy things into my legs, shots I think I heard Dad say once, but after a quick chat with the nurse, Dad went the other way and took me with him. I have a sneaky suspicion that we'll be going back though. Shots. Yuck.

A few days later, we were on our way to Fremont, California to talk with Speech Pathologist and Feeding Specialist, Marjorie Palmer. Not sure why she follows every compliment with a question, but Mom sure seems to like her. Her office smells funny, don't know how anyone could go in there and want to eat, but it's big, so I can run.

And Mom always tries to feed me there with Ms. Palmer watching. It's a little unnerving, but I try to amuse her. Ate two Cheetos, with a little difficulty (I think I'm biting off a little more than I can chew and swallow safely), but wasn't having anything to do with the Cheerios. And when she brought out the yogurt, I about lost it. It was 2:40 in the afternoon, people, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I wasn't being given my bottle. I mean seriously, I was there to eat so why hold out on me? Finally got my bottle, ate like a champ in my carseat at Ms. Palmer's office in Fremont. Never done that before.

So, Ms. Marjorie Palmer would like Mom and Dad to try and work more foods into my diet. She's always talking about feeding me mayonnaise. Is she serious? Mayonnaise? Am I really that dire of a case that you're going to try and force straight mayonnaise into me? Think I puked when I had the stomach flu? Go ahead and try to feed me that. I dare you.

Luckily, I have a Mom who has a lot more common sense and finds other, more tasteful ways to put the calories in me.

Anyway, I feel good. I sleep well. I eat when I need to (still only liquid stuff from a bottle I won't hold no matter what you do). And life's good. Got some new toys I'm really enjoying: a pair of drumsticks and a Spider-Man/Green Goblin set from the Superhero Squad. There's something about bright colors and banging on things I just can't get enough of.

But the thing I'm really excited about is our vacation that's coming up so quick. We'll be going to Southern California (Disneyland maybe, if Dad has his way) and then to St. George to see Grandma and Grandpa Roberts. Sweet. I bet there's a pool there. I love the water! Not the sun so much, but the water is fantastic!

Chao for now.