Monday we took both kids to our pediatrician for their 2-year/2-month appointments.
Convenient to boot, let me tell you.
James was blissfully ignorant of what was to take place and has become quite comfortable with being naked.
Lola, however, was terrified the moment we left Dori and Nemo and their tank of happiness in the waiting room.
Standing on the scale was like pure torture for our chicky (typical woman, right?), and the Looney Tunes gown she was given to wear might has well have been made of boiling lava or something equally excruciating.
On a lighter note, Lola has nearly quadrupled her birth weight. She weighed in at 26 pounds and measured 36 inches tall -- seriously, where did she get her height?
She tried to take out Dr. Allred with a few deliberate kicks, but he's been doing this for a long time and has developed evasive techniques that rival those of a superhero.
James and I went into the hall while Lola got her shot.
I'm certain her screams could be heard throughout the entire Sugar House area, but promptly stopped when she rediscovered the orange sucker in her hand.
James shot me a look of pure betrayal before his screams started since I was the one holding him on the table.
Shots are the worst.
The good news is we all survived the baby apocalypse... this time.