In my junior year of high school, I took the Occupational Aptitude Test designed to reveal which professional fields I was well suited for. I didn’t have much faith in these exams, and had even less when my results came back. My highest score was for “zoology” where I scored an impressive 95%; my weakest subject was the one I only scored 14% on, and, somehow, it was “animal sciences.”*
I’ve never really understood how I was able to pull off this feat. But based on The Squirrelly’s six month checkup, I’d beginning to suspect that my ability to score all over the chart might have a genetic component.
Let’s do the numbers
- Length: 28 inches. That puts him in the 90th percentile! If this continues into adulthood, he will be well over 6 feet in height!
- Weight: 16 1/2 lbs, the 30th percentile. So, we’re lookin’ at a tall,
scrawnyathletically trim guy.
- Head circumference: Another 16 1/2, this time in inches. Which puts him in the — 5th percentile? Duh-wha?! So: tall, slender, and, not unlike his dad, unable to hold more than a single thought in his head at any given time.
The doctor assures us that his current stats will likely have no correlation to his adult dimensions. But in the meantime we’re gonna switch from “The Squirrelly” to “The Lamprey” and start renting him out as a chimneysweep.
He also has two teeth now, a fact he’s happy to remind us of whenever we let our fingers wander too close to his maw. Frankly, I’m finding the advent of teeth to be a little disquieting. I mean, it’s weird enough watching the stuff he was born with get bigger, but now he’s generating entirely new body parts? Great — now there’s even more baby to take care of. The only upside is that it has me wondering if, as we keep extending the average lifespan, we’ll someday discover that the human body grows still more appendages somewhere down the line. I’m rooting for wings at 140.
[Aside! Now that everyone who isn’t the parent of a tottler has gotten bored and stopped reading, I can plug these two great children’s CDs: “You are my Flower” and “You Are My Sunshine” by Elizabeth Mitchell. Check out youaremyflower.org and click “listen.” I’m fond of “Freight Train.”]
We’ve also started feeding him solid foods, although I guess “feeding” is something of a misnomer since it implies that some of the rice cereal actually goes down his gullet. As I move the gruel towards his cryhole, The Squirrelly likes to “help” by opening and closing his mouth at random intervals and wildly waving his arms around in an attempt to grab the spoon, all of which makes the process about as easy as threading a needle during a downpour while riding a roller coaster drunk. Fortunately, the approximately 1200 hours I spent playing Zaxxon as a teen left me uniquely qualified to tackle this challenge. Weird how that high school occupational test failed to pick up on this aptitude