Fiona's one-month doctor visit was yesterday. It was supposed to be the day before, but somehow I managed to put the wrong time on my calendar so when I showed up at 10:15 for it, the receptionist said the appointment was long past since it was scheduled for 9:15. Yeah, as if I'd ever make an appointment for that early in the morning.
All's well in Fiona-world as far as her health goes, though. Here's a quick rundown of her stats:
Weight: 10 pounds, 12.2 ounces. Our little piggie has gained nearly two pounds from her birth weight; nearly three if you account for the pound she lost after being born. This puts her in the 90th percentile for weight. SWEET!
Length: 22 inches. Two and a quarter inches since birth. Not exactly basketball player height, but she's average, landing in the 55th percentile. Hmm... 90th percentile for weight, 55th for height. Already she's taking after her parents' body shapes. Poor thing.
In spite of a lot of congestion - totally normal for a little bean such as herself - Fiona checks out as totally healthy. Her lungs sound clear and strong (especially if you gauge by the ear-splitting screams she was emitting during much of the appointment), her heart sounds great, and everything else is on target. She's growing like a weed, which makes me so happy. After the anxiety of that first week when she lost so much weight and was so unhappy due to hunger, I couldn't be more relieved that she's doing so well now. Plus, I feel a certain sense of pride knowing that her awesome growth is due to the milk I'm making and giving to her. Sure, it's a natural process and I don't have a lot of control over it. But there's something very satisfying about the fact that my boobs have the awesome power to feed and nourish my daughter. This along with the awesome powers I already knew they possessed. Hot damn, the sisters have skills!
Fiona's next appointment next month will likely be less fun as she'll be getting her first round of vaccinations. I'm already dreading it, hating to see her in pain of any kind. Especially legitimate pain. She squawks plenty from silly stuff like being changed when she's really hungry, or being put down when she's feeling needy. But this appointment will produce serious owies, and I am already steeling myself for the trauma my poor daughter will be experiencing. I get upset when my cats and dog get shots. I think seeing my own flesh and blood get pricked will probably drive me a little batty. Sorry, battier.
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