Trees and Weeds

I had to venture out into the world today.

That makes four times this week.

That's like the Daraness Book of World Records worthy.

Today, though, was different.

I only had one little.

Lily needed to go to the doctor for her 2-year well checkup (which, I was sorta torked about, since I was there on Monday for Eden's 6-month well checkup, and thought it was lame that they wouldn't let me just have their appointments at the same time. I mean, it's not like they don't over schedule anyway....)

As I was driving down the road, I had to stop for a traffic light. That's when the car with the super excited trees came by.

I immediately saw it in blue ink on a lined piece of paper. Either that's really awesome, or I need to get out more.

Anyway, so we made it to the doctor's office, and they handed me one of those ages and stages forms (I don't do those, as I said in an earlier post...), and I casually flipped through it.

I got really, really paranoid.

You see, the Lily doesn't talk.

Well, she talks, but usually it sounds like a furbie, or resembles something like, "Furiblei shriple sog?"

And all the questions were about how much and what your child was saying.

She's got "ow" and "no" down, and will occasionally meow, or yell "MOMMY!" at the top of her lungs.

But nothing close to the TWO HUNDRED words she's supposed to know.

That's a lot of words for a little lady. Talk about pressure.

Anyway, the doctor waltzed in, the usually open and free Lily curled up in a ball on the floor. Any attempts the doctor made to get a closer look at her resulted in her thrashing around and yelling "NO NO NO!" and trying to get away. This became augmented when he tried to take off her pants. And I really don't blame her...I mean, if some strange, gigantic man with tiny red Iron Men on his shirt was trying to unbutton my pants, I'd try to get away too.

It was finally decided that it would be best if I held her while he poked and prodded, and she only just allowed that. He finished, and stuck his hand out.

"Gimme five?" He smiled winningly.

Lily looked at his hand in scorn.

"NO!"

I stuck my hand out, and said,

"Gimme five?"

She slapped my hand, and then looked scathingly at the doctor, who tried again, this time with a knuckle bump, which she also scorned.

He sighed, and gave up, but cheered up when he looked at her stats.

"Hey, at least she's getting bigger!" he quipped. "10th percentile for weight, and 80th for her height!"

This caused me great relief since the last time we were there she was in the oneth percentile (is that a word?).

So, Lily's my little weed.

And she has a healthy fear of strange men.

Keep that fear, Lily...keep that fear.