Our family doctor asked me a bunch of questions about his progress culminating in a question about whether or not he gets "tummy time" to which I answered with a hesitant affirmative. IT'S NOT MY FAULT. I try to give the kid tummy time, but his only reflex when put on his stomach is to faceplant his giant head into whatever surface I have him on and cry in abject misery. If I'm lucky, he ends up crying himself to sleep. So to reiterate: my child would rather complain himself into exhaustion rather than TRY to lift up his head and use his abdominal/arm muscles. I don't know where he gets it from [/deadpan]. Anyway, the doctor flipped him onto his stomach on the examination table and wonder of wonders, the kid lifted his head about .005mm for about .000001 of a second. I must have been wearing a telltale sheepish, vaguely embarrassed expression on my face because our doctor said briskly, "Well. Hmmm. He's definitely on the spectrum of ability" which is a really nice and politically correct way of saying that my kid is a lazy fathead. I mean, ALL HUMAN EXPERIENCE exists on a "spectrum" with lazy fatheads like my son making up the furthest poles of the available breadth of ability. Le sigh. There is a statute of limitations on how long and far being a fathead Buddha will carry you in life. What is beatific and charmingly jolly now is one case of congenital sausage fingers and a motorized scooter away from being pitiable.
Tonight we're going to our neighbour's house to watch Top Chef and eat takeout. FRATERNIZING WITH THE NEIGHBOURS!!!!!!!! This is a great leap forward for Dotyron and Lagerfeld neighbourhood integration. I'm quite excited about the whole thing, if a bit sheepish about our contributions - guacamole and chips and those Paula Deen kit kat bars (pictured below). We just got a text inquiring about our beer preferences - so I feel they're doing too much and are going to make me feel like a crummy guest. Eeep.
That's not a bad contribution to bring for a Top Chef viewing party, is it?!???