What Statistics Really Mean.

Colin had his four-month check up on Friday.  

I've never fooled myself.  I know Colin is big.  Like, really big.  I think this because strangers on the street will stop us and say things like, "Wow, he's big. Like, really big." 

But on Friday, I found out exactly how big.  He is 26 1/4" long and 19.2 pounds.  That's the 89% and the 96%, respectively.  I took it in stride at the moment.  "Sure," I thought.  "Ninety-sixth percentile.  Who isn't?"  But then I got home and realized exactly who isn't: 99 people in 100 aren't in the 96th percentile.  And then I got to thinking about what those statistics really mean.

If there were 100 babies in a room (and let's be honest: that's a lot of babies), and someone patiently lined up all 100 babies in descending order of weight, Colin would be the fourth baby to be lined up.   The fourth!   He'll fall asleep waiting for the other 96 babies to be organized. And by the time the job's done, he'll be ready for snack.

If you're the 4th-heaviest baby in the room (or, if it makes you feel better, the 96th-lightest), raise your hand!

Shout-out.

This entry serves as a shout-out to Maren, who bought Colin this totally rockin' Nike leisure suit.

In addition to being super cute, the outfit is functional, too. See, Colin is commonly mistaken for a girl* and, despite Serena Williams' lucrative endorsement deal, nothing says "boy" like Nike.

* Brad thinks that it only happens if the person asking has a daughter.  I think it's more widespread.  I think it happens because Colin is super-naturally pretty.  

The Music Man.

Colin's been standing more and more, and we thought he'd dig being in a standing position while playing.  So,  Brad and I took the plunge and bought him an exer-saucer.  The exer-saucer we bought has a music-playing, push-button (for lack of a better word) device.  It has five buttons, all with an animal's picture on it.  The first time you hit a button, it mimics the sound the animal makes.  The second hit gives you the name of the animal in English.  The third - the animal's name in Spanish.  On the fourth, it plays classical music (or totally non-classical music made to sound classical, in the case of the cow playing "Old McDonald Had a Farm"). 

Colin has loved music since he was born, and he's a huge fan of not the exer-saucer as a whole, and not that particular device, but that particular device while playing music.  When music is playing, he's happy as a clam.

When music isn't playing, this happens.

After getting sad enough often enough, Colin is now expert at slapping the button three times really fast, all while grimacing.  After the fourth hit, when the music starts, he's super-psyched. (He has yet to play with any of the other toys.)

"Jeans" is a dirty word.

On Saturday, my mom went back to Las Vegas. While she's gone, she left her cold behind. On Sunday, Colin went from a blissfully sweet baby boy to a total fuss-budget. He fussed and squirmed his way through Sunday and Sunday night, and, on Monday, when I ought to have been dropping him at a friend's house (our nanny was out of town), I decided to call in and work from home. If Colin was that fussy for me, there's no way he'd be keen on being at a strange house with someone that he's only met 15 times.*

* Colin is a like a short-term amnesia patient. He's "met" Jenn 15 times, every Sunday of his life. But his memory is so short that every Sunday is like meeting her for the first time.

Colin ended up doing better for most of the day. Until Monday night. He fell asleep on the couch next to me, so I picked him up and plunked him in bed. Usually, mid-sleep, he'll wake up, squirm, stretch, grunt, and go back to sleep. After twenty minutes or so, he woke up, squirmed, stretched, grunted, and then began to cry. And cry. And cry some more. He might have doubled his lifetime crying total in one night.** He was nearly hysterical for about 15 minutes, and I was totally befuddled. It wasn't his hungry cry, not his diaper cry, not his gassy cry, nothing. It was a new brand of hysterical crying. As a last ditch effort, I laid him down on the changing table to see if it was his diaper. As soon as I took off his jeans, he stopped crying. Like, the instant the jeans slipped off his legs, he stopped. Not only stopped crying, but started smiling. All that fuss over sleeping in jeans? Brad said that any kid would fuss over sleeping in jeans, but he fell asleep in them, so how bad could they be? And stayed asleep for a while before he decided they were (apparently) crazy uncomfortable. I have decided that it wasn't the discomfort, but the color. Colin's an observant kid, and I think he decided that he doesn't like the lighter rinse jeans. "It's 2008!" he's screaming at me. "Get me some dark rinse jeans!"

** Colin, being the easy kid he is, had probably only cried for two hours total prior to this incident. So, sure, I exaggerated a bit, but not by much.

Trying to see the silver lining in all this, I decided that we must be good parents because I have never heard Colin cry like that over his honest necessities - he's never been so deliriously hungry that he cried like that. He's never been so soaking wet that his diaper doubled his body weight. So, for Colin, the only thing worth truly crying over is jeans. His life must be pretty good.

Colin's Big Weekend.

Colin got blessed at church this weekend. It was a big to-do, with family up from Las Vegas and from Portland. Here's a recap of his big day.

He woke up, and he was a little nervous.

But then he had something to eat. While his hand was his first choice, he eventually settled on milk.

Then, he spat it up.

So he did some exercises to get his mind off things.

Turns out, it was nothing to be nervous about. Brad did a lovely job, and Colin had a great time, and they both looked great while doing it!

The Sweater Post.

For those who know me well, you know my unending appreciation of sweaters, especially cardigans. I am pleased to announce that Colin has inherited my love of fine knits and is the proud owner of many a sweater. This one, though, deserves special note.

It's not just that he looks dapper in it, but that's a nice perk. This sweater is special because it's Colin's first custom-made article of clothing. Some people never get a custom-made piece of clothing. Others may have to wait years. But not Colin. He only had to wait three months.

One of Brad's patients* made this sweater for Colin, and we're really grateful. From yarn selection to the buttons, it was all chosen especially for him. It's a great memory for us, and a great sweater for Colin. Many thanks!

* Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And by "innocent," I mean Brad. No HIPAA violations here!

Lucky 13.

This was an especially good week to be Colin's mom. I got to watch him be this cute all week.