Not such a tiny ninja.

When I reorganized the playroom yesterday, I went through the dress-up bin and put Rudy in the Tiny Ninja costume I bought for something like seventy percent off after Halloween. Then I filmed her, narrating with such astute gems as, "Sad Ninja," "Frustrated Ninja," and "Tiny Ninja."

Today, Marley and Rudy went to their endocrinologist for a routine visit. They'll go again in about four months, and in the meantime, they each need to get some routine bloodwork (at different times, though, because of variations in their medication), and my friend Rudy needs an ultrasound of her kidneys (to screen for nephrocalcinosis as a result of her medication for rickets), AS WELL AS a visit with an orthopedist to determine whether her cowgirl swagger is an indication of a slight hip dysplasia. All of these appointments cluttering my calendar amidst lacrosse practices and games, tours of assisted living facilities with dementia units for my mother, and regular old Bean and Toot routines, nudged me towards the beginning of a panic attack this afternoon. (And also, did I mention, we were at the pediatric opthamologist's yesterday, where I learned that my wonky Rudy needs a stronger lens prescription. One of the employees at the eyeglass center looked at her prescription and after I asked, "Is that really strong?" sort of smiled and sighed and told me, "She can wear contacts when she's older.") But anyhow, I predict that a future trip to DQ for a chocolate dip will easily remedy the jittery sensation I feel when thinking about getting it all done.

What's more fun to think about are the measurements and percentiles I learned about this morning. At four and a-half, Marley is 38" tall, and she weighs 29 pounds and 8 ounces. She's a pipsqueak. Her percentiles are always in the single digits and have actually been negative before. Rudy, at almost 17 months, is 30" tall, and she weighs 20 pounds and 4 ounces. Twenty pounds! When Marley finally hit twenty pounds, she was almost two years old, and we had a 20 Party to celebrate.

Rudy is in the eighth percentile for weight, and she's in the ninety-second (Good God!) percentile for head size. The size of her noggin should be of no surprise to those who are familiar with the size of her mother's and father's heads. Poor Rudy. But here's the thing: she is in the twenty-fourth percentile for height. When her doctor mentioned that, I actually did a double take and asked her to repeat herself. And then I said, "Twenty-fourth? Rudy!" Like she's a giant. Go, Toot!