Forty-nine Pounds of Toddler
Chloe and Emma survived their “18 month” (really more like 20 – still correcting for gestational age here) pediatric visit without too much angst. Three shots a piece, but no real ill effects after a good nap. After weighing them, it became clear that I’m not just a big sissy for having trouble toting them together everywhere. Chloe was 23#3 oz, and Emma 25#10. That’s 49 lbs! No wonder my arms are tired.
In other news, I’m feeling inspired to start blogging more, and am feeling the need for a big overhaul. I’m considering dropping the S-B name for something else entirely, but am at a bit of a loss. I’d like something that summarizes or at least hints at my various roles/descriptors (mama, fake doctor*, domestic goddess**, afflicted with a severe lack of tolerance for nonsense) but I’m coming up short. Suggestions?
* A patient recently asked me if we had any “real doctors” working. The rest of the evening was spent referring to my attending as “real doctor” and to me as “fake doctor.” Heh.
**Domestic goddess. Right. Have you seen my living room after the twinadoes get finished? We all have to aspire to something, I suppose.