It may be years before a grown Eli discloses to his shrink how my mothering ruined his life, but until then all I have are his well-child checkups to tell me how I’m doing. I can’t help but assign the role of evaluator to our doctor. Whenever I bring Eli to his appointments I feel like she’s grading my nurturing ability as I compete for the motherhood scholarship.
First, the measuring:
Weight: 19 lbs - 38% Failing grade. But at least he doesn’t get stuck in his bumbo anymore.
Height: 27.91" - 33% Fail. How is this possible? Have you SEEN my family? I’m the shortest one by a good three inches and I’m no hobbit.
Head size: 48 cm 96% A+ Baby. That’s right. My child rocks his own gravitational pull.
Sleeping through the night? Room for improvement. Actually Zach and I should probably just go to bed earlier so that we can fully appreciate his 6 AM wake up call.
Drinking from a sippy cup? Fail. Or maybe Eli just doesn’t like apple juice.
Pooping? Pass. In a big way.
Crawling? B+. Eli has a powerful engine, but fails to recognize the size of the vehicle he is attempting to maneuver and is frequently stuck. He also has a complete inability to back up.
Fine motor skills? Judging from his ability to find the tiniest speck of anything I don’t want him to eat and the lightning speed with which it is transferred to his mouth I’m going to give him an A.
Diet? Well, I believe that one is subject to opinion. After all, it’s all about Eli being happy, right?
Interaction with other children? Eh, B. He is terrified of the two year-old that lives upstairs (as are we), but he can’t get enough of his cousins.