Red Robin's First Shots

I'm pleased to report that Cordelia-bird, at two months old, weighs in just an ounce shy of 11 pounds. Cody, if you'll remember, was THIRTEEN POUNDS, NINE OUNCES at this exact age. Nearly three pounds heavier, and an inch longer. She's positively petite. She's now 23 inches long, her head is 15 1/2 inches in circumference, her temperature was 98.6 degrees, and she was deemed "absolutely perfect" by the doctor. I could not agree more. I was so happy...until Nurse Ratched came in with the syringes. It was traumautizing. The tears, the sobs, the trembling limbs, the racing heart, the terror, the stabbing pain, sense of betrayal. And that was just me.

But we survived. And here she is now, recovering:

I'll get a picture of her chunky, band-aided legs later. Meanwhile, Cody's hopes were dashed this morning when Cordelia stayed in her cradle while this happened:

He said softly, repeating what JVL told him yesterday, "We would never put her in the garbage truck?" with a very definite hopeful uptilt in his tone. It was still a question/possibility in his mind, though he did sound at least a little bit resigned. He was somewhat cheered, though, by seeing someone's kitchen chair get tossed in and crushed. "Mommy, that's a chair! The leg is BROKEN! They can't SIT on it anymore! They threw it in the garbage and then the garbage truck CRUSHED it in the hopper and CRUSHED it! It crushed a CHAIR, Mommy!" And then we saw this on our 6:15 walk (which was just the two of us, though that didn't seem to help our relationship much):

Hopefully, he will soon be happy about what's on his shirt.

Until than, miserere nobis and dona nobis pacem. And of course, SERENITY NOW!