Iyyar had his 18-month checkup yesterday. Considerately, he chose that very morning to break out in a neck-to-toes bright red rash which would have impelled me to to take him to the doctor that day anyway--so he spared me a second trip. (Not really though--we didn't do any shots because of the rash, so I'll have to go back for those, but at least it will be a scheduled-in-advance visit.)
Iyyar, incredibly, is still only in about the thirtieth percentile for weight. Where is he putting it all? He eats Barak under the table, and me too sometimes. 55th for height. He weighs 24 lb 8 oz, which I need to remember the next time he gets a fever and I need to figure out how much Tylenol he gets.
Developmentally... well. I think he is fine, personally, and as I told the pediatrician, "My natural inclination is to worry myself sick over everything, and I think he's fine, so he probably is." Is he talking? Not really. A few words here and there, and you can't elicit anything out of him ever. Stacking blocks? No, but he attaches Lego. Will he kick a ball? No, but he can catch one if you throw it right. Does he know any body parts? Will he point at his nose if you ask him where his nose is? No. Any pretend play? Um, not really. He'll pretend to talk on the phone sometimes. Reciprocal play? I thought, but did not say, yes, he loves to drop things down the front of my shirt and goes into hysterical laughter if I do the same thing to him.
Then we come home. This morning, I put my finger on my nose. "Iyyar, where's your nose? Can you show me your nose?" Iyyar puts his finger on his nose and grins. Then, when I turn my back, he starts dropping things off his high chair tray, as per usual. Only this time, he's saying, "Uh-oh! Down! Uh-oh! Down!"
I really think he was just waiting till after the appointment to start.