On Lydia’s birthday last month, I measured her: 3’8″ or 44 inches. Her mother weighed her on the bathroom scale: 46 pounds. Then the next week, the doctor took her vitals for her four-year checkup. 44″, 46 lbs. 0ur wall chart and scale meet medical standards.
For her birthday, we had a little party for her with her maternal grandparents, one of her uncles and aunts and two of her cousins. She was uncharacteristically cranky; I mean she can be cranky, but usually only to her parents at bedtime (and not that often). Actually, she was sobbing uncontrollably for reasons I didn’t understand, other than fatigue. So I got one or two of her stuffed animals, they talked to her, and she was fine. My wife said, “You’ve got skills.” I said, “You seem surprised.”
One of the things Lydia got for her birthday was a ball and bat. It’s not a Wiffle ball, but an OBall, with a bunch of the letter O glued together in a spheroid. BTW, Fred Hembeck will be pleased to know the colors of the ball are orange and blue, the Mets’ colors. She likes to hit. While I tried to rig up some T-ball-like arrangement, she prefers me to pitch to her. And though she writes and throws right-handed, she seems to prefer to hit left-handed. She likes the pitches low and inside, though she does OK low and a little outside as well. Perhaps she’s got skills.
ROG