Tiny Dancer

We're back from Laura's checkup and the results are in: she's teeny tiny! (Although as teeny as she is, Will was even teenier at her age. She weighs 10 lbs 14 oz, which is a whopping half pound bigger than Will was at the four month mark. I don't even think I asked the nurse how tall she was.) I also had to admit that she doesn't get enough tummy time (thanks to her big brother constantly romping around paired with my desire to avoid some sort of head injury) and that I don't regularly give her the vitamin D drops I should. I told her doctor that it's a wonder that second children make it at all and that if she fails to become a productive citizen as an adult that she can always blame it on her lack of vitamin D as an infant. On the off chance that we have another, I will very likely forget to even take the baby to the doctor for checkups at the rate I'm going . . .

We have the green light for introducing solids, which I did with Will at this point to his enthusiastic approval, but I'm holding off since Miss Fancy Pants will probably not let me within ten feet of her with a spoon. And I want to wait until she's at least six months old, in part because I want to feel like she's really a baby for as long as possible and it seems as though solid foods are bordering on the bigger-baby end of the baby spectrum. Plus, not having to mix anything and break out the hulking high chair in our compact dining area is just the icing on the cake. And a lot of  baby food is a wee bit gross.

And, let's be honest, breastmilk poo is a much easier enterprise than when solids are introduced. In an effort to put my money where my big fat mouth is, we've embarked on a cloth diaper voyage with Laura. I started this past week after waiting until her little thighs completely filled out the covers so as to avoid increased leak potential and I'm happy to report that it's (a) surprisingly easy and (b) really cute. There really is nothing cuter than a cloth-diapered baby. Here's the proof (this was taken a while back when she had yet to grow into the covers and before we had to abort the mission for a few weeks while we waited on some increased thigh girth):

I was reading an article on cloth diapering a little while back in Mothering magazine and in it, the author tried to interview various diaper manufacturers about what they actually use in their freakishly absorbent diapers. And they refused to disclose the information. So at that point, I really thought that perhaps disposables weren't the way to go for us. And I felt guilty that I've put Will in them for so long (and at this point, I'm pretty sure he's going to be in them until he's about 15 or so, at the rate we're going). And now here we are. So far, so good. But I do acknowledge that the really gross poo is still down the road, so maybe I won't be singing the praises of cloth diapers then . . .

In relation to nothing else (except the last post), here is a perfect shot of Will in full on judgmental mode:

I told you. Totally judgmental.