August turned 18 months old last week, and in accordance with the parental prerogative to subject our children to countless pains and humiliations as they progress through life’s milestones, Robbi took him to the doctor for a checkup.

He tried to drown his sorrows in the comforts of Mickey while sitting in the waiting room, but the dread was undeniable. He knew what was coming.

And so, when taken to the exam room, he did his best to hide. The room was cold and white and sterile with no available nooks.

Except for one. He saw his opportunity and took it.

But, being entirely unpracticed in the ways of deception, he forgot one critical detail.

Betrayed by his own legs, August was discovered.

Upon request, he emerged from his sanctuary, resigned to his fate and ready to face the proverbial music.

As it turns out, it wasn’t so bad. Dr. Ramirez is a rather nice fellow, in fact.

August while still rather small (welcome to the family) is a sturdy, robust boy with lackluster camouflage skills.

As those of you with small kids already know, the nurse always asks a bunch of questions at these checkups, meant to provide developmental benchmarks. It has been interesting to see how we answer these questions differently for August than we did for the other two. Kato, for example, was already conversing in sentences at 18 months. August still can’t keep his “Mama” and “Papa” straight. He clearly understands a lot of what’s going on, but can’t yet join the conversation (or else doesn’t feel like it). I asked Robbi to write down some of the questions from the checkup.

Does he have more than seven words?

Nope.

Can he turn pages without tearing them?

Maybe he can, but he certainly wont.

Can he point to body parts?

That would be a no.

Does he climb?

Everything.

Can he help with simple tasks?

He removes all the markers from the drawer and uses them to decorate his legs. But this isn’t helpful.

Can he dress himself?

He is remarkably adept at removing his diapers.

Is he potty trained?

Strangely enough, he uses the potty more than Kato does. He seems to love it. Perhaps all of his language development brain cells are being focused into potty precocity.

Does he walk well?

It’s more of a waddle.

Does he run well?

It’s more of a hyper waddle.

Does he play with other kids?

He loves to play withe Alden’s hair. Eliciting screams. It’s a great game.

Does he respond to his name?

By hyper waddling in the opposite direction.

Can he sit through reading a book?

He knows the first three pages of most of our books.

Can he eat with a spoon?

He thinks so.

Can he jump in place?

The waddler is earthbound, except when he falls off of things. But I’m pretty sure a true jump requires willingness.