"I hate the doctor," The Champ says only a few minutes after he'd happily left the waiting room toys and greeted the nurse who'd called his name with a resounding "HI."

He'd been skeptical of removing his shoes for the big weigh-in but he cooperated. He hopped on the wiggly scale and tried to be still. He stood quietly and allowed me to move his heels closer to the measuring wall. He even squinted his trademark smile when the nurse with the file folder directed him to "look up at mommy." He giggled about the blood pressure cuff and laughed at the butterfly that leapt out of the eye test as soon as he put on the funny glasses.

But the directive to remove all but "whatever's under there," meaning his "jammas," ended his amusement and his further willingness to comply.

I don't like the doctors. ... I don't want to take my clothes off! I want my shoes ON!

But ... He let me take off his shirt and pants, and he curled up in my lap to wait for the doctor.

While we waited, he told me about all the things he hated beside the doctor and the room and listening to me sing songs meant for the car ... "NOT THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE!"

It seemed to take forever until the doctor's gentle tap-tap sounded on the door and she peeked inside. I wished we could wait like that forever.


For the record: He's 25 pounds and 33 3/4 inches tall.
Still growing.