Little Sis

Brittany will be ten months old next week, and the outfit she's wearing today is size 3 to 6 months.

We called her pediatrician a couple of weeks ago and learned that she hadn't been in for any checkups or immunizations since she was seven weeks old, so we made an appointment and took her. Her weight was fine -- in the 50th percentile -- but her height was only in the tenth percentile, meaning 90% of babies her age are taller than she is. She's still behind on her shots, but it will take a while to catch up.

She still has no teeth and isn't crawling or pulling up. She cannot get herself into a sitting position, or from a sitting position to her tummy -- her leg gets caught under her. She will stand at the coffee table and play if you put her there, but she doesn't make any effort to move around it. She does love her scootie, though, and has no trouble making it go where she wants to go, as long as it isn't onto carpet or grass. She's bright and alert, and an excellent mimic. She babbles and plays ball and waves bye-bye and gives such sweet kisses...

Anyway, I worry.

Julia, the attorney for Sarah's parents, specializes in guardianship cases involving kids under state supervision, and she's seen the aftereffects of drug abuse during pregnancy many, many times. I discussed my concerns with her Friday night and she told me that when Brittany's teeth finally do come in, they may be rotten because they were deprived of calcium in the womb, and that Brittany might be developmentally delayed as well, so she advised me to take her to SoonerStart to be evaluated as soon as possible.

I'm so angry. I'm angry at Sarah for endangering my granddaughter's life and I'm angry at my son for bringing this unwholesome woman and all her issues into our family.

I guess I've led a more sheltered life than I realized because I've been getting quite an education here lately, learning all kinds of things that I never dreamed I'd need to know.