Katie took Elliott and Ian to the doctor today. Elliott for his two year checkup; Ian to get a clean bill of health for his once infected ear. Both boys were doing well. Elliott continues to climb the infant growth chart with the 25th percentile gang; the small but healthy lads of the world. Ian, he has raced ahead on the same chart, looking back with that smile we are so blessed to see so much of these days, taunting all the way, catch me if you can.
Katie has voiced concern lately that Ian isn't eating enough. He weighed 12lbs. 8oz. today. 7 weeks on earth, 5 pounds gained. She may be more justified in worrying that I'm not eating enough. I'm sure he's every bit as frail as I am under his multiplying chins and legs that seem to be expanding like bread rolls.
Ian's growth is either punishment or God's sense of humor in play, not that they can't be one in the same. But there is an infant in town, his identity will go undisclosed for fear of retribution. I saw him several months back and commented how large he was. Katie informed me that he was younger than Elliott. At the time, he was maybe a year old and at least five times as large as Elliott, which would put him somewhere in the 125th percentile where the chart begins to measure the growth of elephants, whales and large dinosaurs. In fun, I began to affectionately call him big fat (unidentified name). Somewhere in Ashland tonight, someone is talking about big fat Ian. I deserve it.
The doctor was impressed with Elliott's vocabulary. It is no longer about the number of words he uses, but how he uses them. We were out looking at one of the houses on the tacky Christmas lights tour this past Saturday night with Papa Hoss and Gigi, a house that absolutely deserved its spot on the tour. We drove through the otherwise quiet neighborhood and reached the featured house. It was like stumbling upon Las Vegas after a long drive through the desert.
"Cool," I said.
Elliott corrected me. "Very cool."
In addition to adjectives he has also begun to use his pronouns. His favorite is you, as in "you do this" and "you do that", followed closely by "you get this" and "you get that". He can also spit out a quick his -"Elliott wants to open his presents" for example.
It is an exciting week. Elliott is dancing to the Christmas music on the television, computer and radio. He talks non-stop about Santa Clause, and although Elliott is not anticipating the exact date of his arrival, he may be more aware that Notre Dame is playing in a bowl game Christmas Eve, I find myself peeking at the fireplace, gas logs and all, hoping that Elliott and Ian have been good boys this year and that we may soon hear a mighty ho ho ho.
We're also preparing to recognize the true meaning of Christmas. Elliott and I went to our church on Saturday and built a manger to put under the tree for baby Jesus. Elliott took a couple swings of the hammer and carried a couple of boards before losing interest. But he can confidently tell you when asked, that is baby Jesus's bed.
I'm sure Santa will be careful not to wake him.