The Baby

As Lane and I returned from running errands, our two babies in the back seat, I realized I referred to my two children as "the baby" and "Elliot".
It's backwards. But we've referred to Jane as "the baby" for so long, it's just habit now.

And I don't know where the time went, but that baby is 16-months-old. Didn't I just have her? ("No," you're saying, "you just had another child.")

Jane went in for her 15-month check-up this morning. Everything is great. The rest of her stats are finally catching up to her weight statistics (previously, weight has been off the charts and head and height measurements have hovered around 50 to 60th percentile ... now everything is in the 85th to 90th percentile -- her weight being in the lowest of the percentages).

Dr. C asked a million questions, to which I searched my brain for. ("How many words is she saying?" Seriously? Does he think I know the number? Am I a bad mother because I said "more than a dozen", because I was unsure what the exact number is?)

But my Baby Jane is a delight to have.

I have witnessed no sibling rivalry, as of yet. She adores Elliot and kisses on him non-stop. She reads to him all afternoon long and always makes sure his play mat/swing have some noise issuing forth.

She is extraordinarily happy (besides the afternoon tantrum ... you can set your watch to it: If she's having a fit it's between 4 and 4:10 p.m.).

She's a dream child. Ironically, she's named after my Grandma and she is just the kind of child Grandma would say is perfect: dimples, good nose, good eater, vocal, and a reader.