Daddy put Noah to bed tonight. He did pretty well. He didn't think to pick up all the toys first, though, so Noah thought it would be perfectly fine to get out of bed and play a bit. He got spankins.
Friends, I remember very clearly sitting at our computer around two years ago and blogging about how my unborn son was trying very hard to kick my lungs through my diaphragm. I recall that memory now because intermittently throughout my day today, Witten Allen has attempted the exact same feat in the exact same location. I'm pretty sure he caught my rib cage once. I don't know for sure, but I think that Witten is going to be a lot more... umm... wilder than Noah was as a newborn. Yeah, that's a nice way to put it.
Noah Sias Du Toit is measuring in the 92nd percentile, at least in weight. His current weight is equivalent to that of a 26 month old. In my concern, I asked our fantastic pediatrician if that meant that Noah was overweight. He assured me that Noah is perfectly fine, he's just big. He even told me to pat myself on the back, 'cause I was doing great as a mother. Then Noah got his finger pricked so they could draw his blood, and he scoffed at their puny attempts to cause him pain. Of course, right after that Noah got a flu shot that had him weeping huge tears of agony. Poor baby! (Though a part of me thinks that it's the act of laying on that paper-covered table that freaks him out, 'cause he cried the same way when they measured his length. Bad memories, I guess.)
My schedule is a bit off. Tomorrow, I grocery shop. Also, my handsome family gets to dress in coordinated clothes and take a portrait for our church directory. (Yay!) It's going to be a chore to try to find outfits that match without being hokey and that everyone's pleased with. Hmmm....
Now, I'm sleepy. BSF was fantastic, and I am loving studying the book of Acts. It's a fantastic read, you should check it out.