Sasha's four month appointment was yesterday. The doctor confirmed what I already know: I have a perfect giant. 91st percentile in height, 84th in weight. In other words, skinny! Okay, not skinny. Enormous. But not enormously fat. Big. Very, very big. 17 pounds. Only five less than his sister. They are now (as soon as his size 2 diapers run out) in the same size diaper.
Oh, and he cries for 10 seconds with shots, and doesn't get sick that day. Basically, except from an I-have-to-carry-him standpoint, he's perfect. Oh wait -- he also wakes up once in the night usually. So, basically perfect. He has the most amazing smiles, giggles and laughs, loves to have his diaper changed, coos at his mommy, and waves his arms around frantically. He plays with paper, pulls my hair vigorously, takes his binkie out of his mouth, and pets the cat. I love my boy.
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