Idependent much?

Yesterday was Tyler's 4 month check-up. His current stats, as taken by the nurse, are: weight - 20 pounds 10 ounces, length - 27 1/2 inches, head circumference - 43 1/2 centimeters. That still ranks our little man above the 95 percentile in ALL CATEGORIES! And, he has officially doubled his birth weight in a stagering 4 months.

When the doctor walked in her first words were, "If you haven't bought him a basketball yet, you need to." We discussed other sports options, including men's volleyball and football (our #1 choice). She then asked me how tall Joe was. I said, "5' 10"", which I now know, and have been corrected on haughtily, is wrong by 1 1/2 inches to his favor. geez. Either way, the doctor was amused by this. She must have assumed (by the look on her face) that I had married a giant, which lead to my giant baby. No, no, no. She then said, "Oh, well you two combined have super genetics." She showed me how Tyler was off the charts, but how impressed she was at how symetrical his height and weight curves were. This means that I don't have a short & fat baby, nor a tall & skinny baby.

At this point I'm smiling and secretly blessing these super genes. One of my greatest fears about having a baby boy was my genetic code. I didn't want to have a short boy. They're not cute, when being cute is important (read: highschool), they don't get picked for sports, and they sure as heck don't get dates... until much later on when ladies realize there's more to dating than looks. I didn't want to curse my son with these things. But, Dr. Dana has confirmed that I no longer need to worry about this. -sigh of relief- The Dr. then continued Tyler's exam. He got mad, angry, and even pissed off, when she tried to look into his ears, as it required her to hold his head to one side. Kids have their moments, right?

Flash forward to this morning's bath. The high of my genetic super kid has worn off, and I'm trying to wash his arms. (Lately I've given him his own washcloth, because he likes to gnaw on it while I'm washing him, and it's hard to share one washcloth. Plus, no matter how safe Johnson & Johnson's claim that their soap is, I doubt that consuming large quantities of it is good for anyone. ) I extract one of his hands from the death grip that he had on his own washcloth, to wash his hand and arm, and he started screaming at me, as if I had hurt him. I know better. He's pissed at me because I moved his arm. I calmed him down, washed his left arm, and he resumed eating the washcloth with both hands. But... there was that other arm that needed washing. I knew what was coming, but it had to be washed. So I did it. He screamed at me for the entire rest of the bath. It was then that it all came flooding back to me....

He has my genetic code...
He has my genetic code...
He HAS MY GENETIC CODE...

Good god man! I've passed on MY independent streak, my bull-headedness, my "I'll figure it out on my own, thank you very much", and my "I'll do it my own way and in my own time". SH*T. We're in for a loooooong road.