It's official, even the doctor says she's three

At her official well-baby-toddler-preschooler visit yesterday Annabel got to stand on the big-girl scale, sidle up to the measuring wall and don a funky pair of sun glasses to look at an optical illusion of a butterfly, then try to pick up said spectre. It was all going so well until Dr. Always-Somehow-Freaking-Me-Out listened to her chest and announced: "I heard something a little crackly."

Last week when I took her in because she sprouted a fever and was lethargic, her lungs were clear. This week - during her routine visit when she was feeling fine and being her usual talkative self - there was the crackle. So that means antibiotics.

Otherwise, little miss Ittybit is doing fine. She's in the 25th percentile for both height and weight at 35 3/4 inches and 26 pounds, respectively. She's got all her teeth and her skin, which she inherited from me, is only a little bit rashy.

And although the doctor asked me if we had any concerns about her development, she really didn't expect there to be any, especially after she asked Annabel how old she was and was told "TWO."

"Hmmm. I thought you were three?"

"Well, I don't want to be free just yet, thank you."

"Don't have to worry about those verbal skills, now, do we?"