Took Emery to the doctor yesterday for his nine-month well-baby check (dude, he's been out for as long as he was in, weird).
Weight - 7th percentile
Height - 12th percentile
Head Circumference - 70th percentile
Baby got some smarty-smart brain up in there, yo.
We discussed a lot of things (including this horrible head cold we are all battling), even a medical issue we've been in deep, deep denial about. The doctor was convinced things would get better, but she's starting to agree that it's much more serious than previously thought.
Unfortunately, there's no known medical help we can do, which makes it all that much more serious. Yes, some people have been known to live with the condition for a long time, but typically their life is cut short.
Y'all, Emerson is a zombie.
It explains a lot, if you really think about it:
lack of sleep (the better to liquify my brains)
the odd undertone of braaaaiiinnnnnssss when he cries - bbbbBBBBbbrraaaAAAAIIIIiiiiIINNNNNSSSssssssss
his forcefulness to try to shove a spoon in my ear (you know, to eat the brains)
his inability to heal his skin ('cause, you know, HE'S A ZOMBIE and zombies are like dead and stuff and aren't known for their healthy-glow) (unless they are full of brrraaaaiiinnnnsss)
Other going-ons ('cause like I said, DENIAL ABOUT MAH ZOMBIE BAYBEE), Darwin has mastered the monkey bars:
but with MUCH trepidation. And both boys finished up spring soccer...
... which means we can focus on other things, like canning. And preserving my bbbrraaaiiinnnnssss.