18

Our buddy is 18 months old today, which means he gets to celebrate by going for his quarterly check up with the doctor. For some reason, he is deathly afraid of the stethoscope. I don't think I can state this strongly enough. It verges on mortal terror.

He does all right with shots, all things considered. And he manages to keep it together with the whole weigh-in and measuring routine. But the doctor who tries to listen to Samson's chest may as well be at the head of an evil clown parade and brandishing a rattle snake.

PS: I have no idea why the picture loaded vertically. It's clearly a horizontal shot, and I tried to load it several times before deciding to try and pass it off as an artistic choice. So there you have it. Think of it as a commentary on how we view children and the norms we ascribe to imagery; or you might see it as an attempt to challenge the accepted forms of representation---a kind of mimetic liberation of the object from the viewer (the whole gaze/gazer dichotomy).

Or you could just know that my computer skills topped out with Speak & Spell.

PPS: Said picture was taken during the recently instituted (and very recently weather-appropriate) daily five minutes of naked time. He could be in the foulest mood and ready to completely fall apart, but once he's sans culottes, everything (to quote Bob Marley) is gonna be all right...