Rowan was a champ at the cardiologist's office. The doctor, a ~45ish year old blond California-lookin' dude in jeans with a seriously stuffy nose, examined him at rapid fire, stunning Rowan into submission. He performed an ultrasound while a shirtless Rowan sat in my lap ("This is the right ventricle left ventricle four chambers here's the vena cava and the blahdiblah valve bringing blood back from the lungs..." I could not keep up). Next up: the EKG. Rowan stared at the stickers on his chest but he started to protest only when the wires were connected. And when the stickers were yanked off. Ouch. But the doctor swung his stethoscope like a pendulum, mesmerizing our boy, and before we knew it it was over.
Fiona's been trying out new words that she seems to enjoy getting her lips around, like "ridiculous"
(usually said while in a good mood) and "frustrated" (usually a bad mood). Also, "awkward," of which I'm not confident she knows the definition.
Rowan continues to take music and we've just started a mommy and me gym class, in which he basically runs around a mat-filled room playing games, throwing balls, doing whatever suits his fancy. A good way to burn off some energy on 19-degree days.
uh-oh
nose
no
hoo (owl)
Playing with dolls and strollers
Carrying books around the house to point out the balls and moons within
Making revving engine sounds for car/truck pictures
Chillin' without tears at the gym nursery when I drop him off
Rowan's new trick:
Brian and Fiona play "Last one up is a rotten egg" at bedtime, which Fiona always wins (making her the scrambled egg) and Brian always loses (making him the rotten egg), prompting Brian to ask, "What's that smell?" Fiona always shouts, "YOU!"
Now, if you ask Rowan "What's that smell?", he responds, "YOU!" I laugh every time.
Rowan's new tooth:
#7! Top, just left of center.