And Baby Makes Three: A Shot for Brendan (and a few for Mommy -- the kind that burn the back of your throat going down)

Brendan had his 9-month check-up on Monday. Grandma Annie came along, which was nice for Mommy because I was pretty sure he was going to be getting at least one shot. Brendan was displaying some clear signals that he was aware of where he was and the sort of impending doom that follows when one visits the doctor. When I put him on the table to get him undressed he started whimpering and looking at me with pleading eyes, "Why Mom? Why are you doing this to me? I promise I'll be good. I'll eat all my green vegetables without making faces or gagging until I puke." And my heart just broke for the little guy. I did my best to keep my game face on and smiled at him and told him everything would be fine. But let's face it, when you're at the doctor's office everything ain't gonna be fine and he knew it.

Despite my absolute certainty that he weighs at least 130 pounds, Brendan came in at a delicate 21lb 1.5oz (50th percentile). He's 29.75" tall (80th percentile) and has a head circumference somewhere in the 90-95th percentile. A string bean with a watermelon on top. I made sure to announce to the doctor that he got this last trait from his large-headed father. He did indeed need a shot, but only one. Which did nothing to diminish the amount of pissed-offness that followed.

As Brendan approaches the big O-N-E, Kenny and I are more than ready to start looking for a bigger place to buy. One that might actually be able to contain the absurd amount of stuff that comes with a baby. And a husband who gets serious separation anxiety when I casually mention that it might be time to think about throwing away that pile of magazines from oh, 1980! I'd like to say that the new place will be spotless and everything will be organized in labeled, color-coded bins and we'll host weekly parties to show everyone how on top of it we are. But let's face it, we're not those people and our house will never be clean again. At least not until I have a place of my own.

Brendan has decided to skip crawling (he says it's for babies) and move straight to walking. Mommy and Daddy either need longer arms or Sir needs to grow about a foot. When he gets it into his head that it's time to practice, there's no room for negotiation. And it's some back-breaking stuff—walking all hunched over him so he can hold onto our fingers. I tried to get him to use the walker thing but he just got all pissed off and pitched a fit. Maybe because he kept rolling it over his little sausage foot. (He has a tendency to walk with his left foot facing due west.) I'll post a video of it when I can find a few minutes.

Since I neglected to blog about Easter, which we spent with Grandma Annie, Grandpa Charlie and Great Grandma Mimi, I'll post some adorable pictures of our very own little Easter Bunny below. Oh, and some other pictures too. Because they're cute. And I like to show off my exceptionally photogenic child.

Nine more days until Florida!!! Woooo hooo!!! We are soooo excited to see everyone and for Brendan to meet his Grandpa Billy, Grandma Sharon, Aunt Nicole, Uncle Matthew, Great Grandma Jackie and everyone else down there he hasn't gotten to meet yet. Mommy has made packing lists and is doing everything in her power to be as prepared as possible. Not not mention hoping beyond hope that Brendan doesn't freak out on the plane. I remember being that young girl without kids who rolled her eyes and declared the parents of the screaming kid unfit! And then thinking to myself, "When I have kids they're TOTALLY going to be the best, well-mannered, amazing kids EVER!" ::Blushes and looks down at the floor:: Yeah, what the hell did I know about anything? Is it bad parenting to administer a sleeping aid to a child before takeoff? JUST KIDDING PEOPLE. I wouldn't do that. Not really. Unless it was totally necessary.