Just shoot me

Henry had a somewhat traumatic visit to the doctor today, and the poor kid didn't see it coming. All smiles and coos as the doctor examined him, he didn't recognize the pointy instruments sitting next to him as the pain producers that they proved to be. Yes, it was time for some vaccinations. To which I couldn't help but respond with the thought, "I wish they could just shoot me with the vaccines instead of him." At least I'd be able to understand what it was for and deal with the discomfort. Surely, there must be some futuristic manner in the research stages to miraculously deliver vaccinations via the mom. I'd do it for him in a heartbeat.

Luckily, Henry's a trooper, and he's been attempting to cope with his pain in the best way he knows. By rabidly searching for and sucking on his hand. He'll settle for any part of it, really--wrist, fingers, whole fist, whatever. The solitary thumb has still not quite found it's way into his mouth. But when it does, boy will that be an exciting day. In the meantime, Henry's working on the realization that instead of launching his entire body in the direction of his much sought-after hand, he can instead move the hand to his mouth. It's an unreliable work-in-progress, and his hand-eye coordination is sometimes quite literal. Henry watches his hand with his eye, until Bam!, his hand hits him in the eye. Our patient little baby spends upwards of an hour attempting this feat of moving his hand to his mouth regularly, while Brian and I watch in wonder (and try not to laugh too hard) at his developmental growth.

Speaking of growth, he continues to show a good propensity for it, as we learned today at the pediatrician's. At 10 weeks Henry weighs 14 pounds, 2 ounces, and measures 25 inches.