Amerrrrica, Amerrrrica
We went to the pediatrician the other day for our bi-weekly visit. (If you ever want to prepare for having small children, spend 80% of your time either being sick or taking care of sick people.)
The doctor walked in the room, sat down, and started asking what was going on with Hutton.
Doc: So he’s been sick. Ok. How high has his fever bee – wait – *studies her notes*
Is this a typo or is that really how much he weighs?“
Me: Uh…yea. Almost 19 pounds? That’s how much he weighs.
Doc: Wow. This is the weight they just took? Just a second ago?
Me: Yes.
Doc: Wow. He’s more like an 8 month old. Certainly not 5 months.
Me: ….uh huhh…
Doc: Yea…your back must hurt.
For one: Yes. Yes it does. For two: …maybe reign in the shock and awe a little, doc?
Anyway.
That solid chunk-a boy turned 5 months last week.
How he keeps down enough food to be the biggest giant baby known to mankind, I have no idea.
I compared his 5 month pic to his brother’s and, among other things, I’m glad to know they both discovered their feet at the exact same time.
Happy Birthday, ‘Merica
Over the weekend, Taylor had to work (He had to pull a double shift at the corny dog stand*. Theme parkery never rests, you guys.) so my brother and I took the boys to the Perot Museum in Dallas.
Two words: awe. some.
If you live anywhere in the vicinity of Dallas, you need to make this a top priority. Or come visit me and we’ll make a day of it.
Aside from people telling Jared and I how cute “our” kids were…
and aside from that turd brother turning my seat warmers on in the 100 degree heat while I wasn’t looking (“Is it sweaty in here, or is it just me?”)…
and throwing french fries under my chair so the nasty pigeons would walk all over my feet during lunch…
…it was so.much.fun.
We dug for dinothaur boneth.
We raced – and nearly dominated – prehistoric something-or-others.
It was greatness.
Juncle (a name that has yet to stick, despite my best efforts) is a family favorite.
And, in typical America’s birthday fashion, we capped the night off with backyard fireworks of my brother’s choosing.
So…pooping dogs and chickens laying eggs, naturally.
In a strange turn of events, Beckett was terrified of the big fireworks this year and Hutton was enthralled. (The latter also just discovered how exciting his own appendages are, so it doesn’t take much.)
We grilled out…
(which let an ungodly amount of flies in the house during the process which led to a killer {literally} fly-swatting contest…)
lit sparklers and tiny firecrackers…
discovered $100 worth of Arby’s coupons tucked away in my glove box from my first pregnancy (it was an actual problem, clearly)…
and enjoyed the randomly beautiful Texas July weather.
A perfect 4th of July weekend surrounded by my favorite dudes.
Bring it on, potty humor fireworks and bug massacres. With all the testosterone in my life, I feel sure we’ll be seeing more of each other through the years.
