Height/Weight of a Four Year Old Girl

I finally took the time to find the growth charts for kids to see where CootieGirl stands on the percentile scale.

She measured at 42 inches tall. According to the CDC charts online, she is in the 100th percentile on height. That makes sense, since she towers over just about everyone in her daycare classroom. Future model, that one. I still secretly hope she’s going to be 5’10” when she finishes puberty. That would rock since my side of the family is all terribly short.

Her weight was 39 1/2 pounds, which is in about the 80-85th percentile. So gorging on Princess PopTarts and Strawberry Quik hasn’t affected her. Yet.

Wait…have I posted this already? I feel like I’ve already typed all this in. Have I? Ugh. I suck if I have.

Her blood pressure was 98/44. She was nervous about the cuff on her arm, especially when the nurse said, “this is going to squeeze your arm” (you know how CootieGirl is about SQUEEZING. Squeeze. That’s a very weird word. Squeeze. Anyway.) Once the cuff started tightening on her arm I could see her intake of worried breath, but then she became fascinated by the dial moving on the instrument panel and forgot all about the Squeezing Cuff of Death around her arm.

She was great getting her shots (three of ’em), not crying at all until it was time to prick her finger and – again with the nurse’s inappropriate language – SQUEEZE some blood out for testing.

The doc asked her to jump, hop on one foot, and also asked a series of questions like what is a ball, what is a house, what she likes to eat (Thank God she said, “Fruit!” instead of “Tablespoons of sugar and Red Bull!”), what do you do when you’re cold (CootieGirl’s answer: shiver. Again – have I already posted this? I feel like I have.)

All in all a great checkup and I really liked the pediatrician. My only regret is that I didn’t move my car when I realized we had parked in the wrong lot. I wish now I hadn’t thought, “It’s such a beautiful day – let’s get 200 steps of exercise and walk over there.” I wish instead I had put my lazy butt in that car and driven the .10th of a mile to the real parking lot so as to avoid Crackpot Car Lady and the Amazing Disappearing Wallet and the Afternoon Of Wasting That Nice Policeman’s Time and thus avert my current nervous breakdown unfolding before you.

Have I said that before? Seriously. Have I?