1. Insert rippling calendar pages here.
Twyla turned six months old last Thursday. A week ago. Still not ready to discuss it. Verklempt.
(Look! Where did that wee baby go?)
(This fat baby ATE HER.)
2. Your Only Friend is the Eel.
Twyla’s six month Well Baby Check (that title always seems either presumptuous or threatening, I can’t tell which) was yesterday. The child has a giant head. It doesn’t look alarming in pictures, with only the two dimensions, but in real life, it invites comment. When my mother is talking to someone about her newest granddaughter, I inevitably hear “Oh, and her head is just HUGE” within the first minute or so, along with a remark about Twyla’s other notable feature, the odd Muppet-yell/dinosaur noises she makes that are constantly alarming my mother when we talk on the phone, because it sounds very Wild Kingdom in the background over here. (Just this morning we were discussing Twyla’s head—for reasons that will become clear in a moment—and I mentioned that, well, MY head was very big as a baby, and my mother interrupted me with “No. Not like that. I have never seen such a big head on any baby, EVER.”) Twyla’s head has always been in the higher percentiles–at four months I think it was in the 80-somethingth, and this time, at six months, it was up in the high 90ths (I am too tired to go find the little sheet of baby statistics they gave me. I know she weighs 15 pounds, has big head). The doctor wasn’t worried per se, but said if things were continuing to trend upward at nine months she might be, and at that point the next step would be a brain ultrasound, only brain ultrasounds are easiest earlier, when the fontanelle is still big, like a creepy flesh-window into the skull, so it might be best to do it now. Twyla’s big-headedness has rather slowed her roll, so to speak–she was late with several milestones, not only rolling but pushing up on her arms and all the things you would expect to be difficult if you were essentially attempting to maneuver a billiard ball atop a gherkin. This kind of milestone lag is very common in the big-headed, and not worrisome in and of itself, and her pediatrician was of the opinion that (given the fact that Scott is unable to buy a hat big enough to fit him and that as a baby my own head did indeed look like that of a enormous-brained comic book villain) it was likely a case of genetic cephalomegaly, otherwise known as inherited big-headedness. Alas, we were unable to confirm this by looking at Simone’s records as her preemie status complicates everything (though there is that song Scott used to sing to her), and better safe than hydrocephalic, so to radiology we went.
And it turns out there is indeed some extra fluid in Twyla’s head. Luckily it is “benign extra axial fluid of infancy,” which is not associated with developmental problems in the absence of other risk factors, and doesn’t press upsettingly on vital brain bits or anything. Probably Twyla just likes making cerebral spinal fluid and is storing up extra in case there should be a shortage. She sprouted two teeth at four months, an age when no baby yet has any need for teeth, so I think she just likes to stockpile things.
Anyhow, now both of my girls have had head ultrasounds as babies, so Twyla can never pout that I didn’t shower her with sound waves like I did her sister.
I opened up a document the other day and it had nothing in it but a quote I had copied down from somewhere, sometime. I have no memory of this at all, but I love this quote so much I want it embroidered on a pillow or something:
Common sense and a sense of humor are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing.