Simon was four months old yesterday. We celebrated by going to the pediatrician, where we confirmed that he is 14 pounds, 10 ounces of rotten. And 25 inches long of rotten. And rotten with a head circumference of 17 1/8 inches.
That puts him in the 50th percentile for weight, same as his two month visit, and the 50th percentile for height, up from 25% at his last visit. Amusingly, his noggin is now in the 80th percentile, up from the 75th at his two-month check-up.
If this pattern holds, the middle name Wolfson will suit Simon well. For while I personally have a pin-head, the Wolfsons in my lineage tend to have big ole’ Charlie Brown heads. At present, Simon is holding his own with his cousin Nathan, uncle Perry, Bubbie, and grand-Zadie Lester (alava shalom). Which is fine by me, as large heads photograph better and look better in hats–assuming you can find ones that fit.
In other signs of progress, when Simon got his shots today only one of us cried. I was not a lunatic mom this trip. Simon screamed bloody murder, but I held it together while he got four shots and his oral vaccine. Turns out shots are much less traumatic when all parties have had better days and more sleep leading up to them.