It's a good thing Lottie's 18-month doctor visit was scheduled while Jim was at preschool. She was tragic enough to require all of my attention.
See how happy she is here? That's not how she looked at the doctor's office.
How tragic, you ask? She started to whimper the second we entered the waiting room, and refused to lift her head up off of my shoulder even to see the super cool fire truck toys they had on the floor. As soon as the nurse called her name, the whimpering turned into outright crying, and by the time she was being weighed, she was sobbing too hard to stand up.
This grin is also not representative of her experience.
Her crying subsided slightly while we were waiting in the examination room, thanks to some nice books involving kangaroos and piggies, but the second the doctor appeared, everything was tragedy once more. She laid her head on my shoulder and wailed while he listened to her heart, sobbed when he looked in her ears, and howled when he wiggled her limbs. In fact, she was crying so hard she didn't even really notice when the nurse came in and gave her a few shots. Small mercies, etc etc.
Turkey makes babies happy. Doctor visits do not.
So how did it all go? Well, her heart apparently sounds less like a party than it used to, and all her parts appear to be in normal working order. She's fully up to date on her shots and won't need any more until she's 4. She's about 30" long (29.92 inches, to be precise, which puts her in the 5th percentile) and weighs 22 pounds even (13th percentile), but the doctor cautioned that both of those numbers might be unreliable since she was thrashing about so much during the measuring. Still, moving up on the growth charts is nice. Maybe soon she'll outgrow her 6-9 month onesies.