Alana is not a thin baby. She has huge heaping 64-oz-Coke-&-bucket-o-chicken thighs. She has grandma droop in her upper arms. Her butt is mushy. She has cankles on her ankles, and cankles on her wrists. She looks like a cross between a summer sausage and Jabba the Hut.

Its very cute. 17lbs worth.

She can put away some food. Milk she drinks as a matter of course, and downs copious amounts in a steady, camel-like manner. Future drinking-contest champion. Food turns her into a ravenous beast. But one with no coordination or core\abs muscles. Her limbs flail about, legs kicking things over, and hands grab whatever they find and drag it towards her sloppy goo-covered mouth. Her heads bobs up and down, like she is trying to rend a meaty ham from downed prey. Tupperwares of mushy sweet potators and plastic spoons bring out her inner predator.

At her 6 month checkup, she was 75th percent for weight, height, and the size of her head. I should be kinda happy about that, and though the numbers indicate I am wonder-dad, I just can’t get over feeling like she is not as well developed as G. I try to remember if we challenged G as much to use her legs and her neck and her back, or if it just seemed so much more weighty and difficult that we were angst-ridden by it? Pretty much every day I’m home with Alana she spends several hours on her playmat, in the bumbo getting fed, or similarly getting challenged while I notice only a scooch.

The nurse asked many more subjective questions, all affirmative: does she recognize you? does she babble? does she pass things from hand to hand?

mmm…yes

Its not that I don’t want to spend time with her, the time simply is not there. I’ve split from 4 to 9 entertaining jr.chollaballs. I shall endeavor to improve upon its quality.

Today I tried her out with some avocado. Noel said kids like it, the waitress made a dollah for a slice, i am optimistic about its future.