I just got a phone call from Early Intervention: our initial intake assessment (which consists of signing paperwork and making sure that we don't keep Noah locked in the liquor cabinet) has been bumped up from August 8th to...tomorrow morning. 9 am.
I'm thrilled that we're getting things underway as soon as possible, but also pissed as hell because Jason has neglected to put out the recycling for two straight weeks and now I have to go hide empty wine bottles like...like some kind of person who drinks too much wine. God.
Anyway, this isn't the important assessment (the one that will determine what services Noah qualifies for, if any, and oh dear GOD he better fail that one spectacularly), but it's something.
In the meantime, how about some pictures?
Baby vs. Sprinkler, the Final Showdown
(I can SO still call him a baby. He's still got his elbow and knuckle dimples.)
By the way, despite being QUITE the chunker at birth, Noah only ("only") weighs 26 pounds now. He wears 6-12 month shorts. We buy 18-24 month shirts, which cover his belly but the sleeves hang past his elbows. He wears size 7 shoes. None of those numbers make a damn lick of sense to me, which is why he's only in a diaper half the time. Who's he got to impress? Me?
BUT. I KNOW. He needs a haircut. I know. I will.
Tomorrow maybe. Or the next day.
Or Sunday. How's Sunday? Talk to me on Sunday.