Weighty issues

We went to Mikey's birthday party at his folks' house last night, had some awesome BBQ brisket and a huge chocolate cake, and learned that Mikey (who was born when his parents were both 18 years old) was conceived in the back seat of a 1966 Mustang Fastback.

Anyway, I had Britt's weight on my mind since I'd just been looking at booster seats and there was a scale (I don't own one) at my in-laws' house, so I weighed myself, had a minor heart attack, then picked up Britt and weighed myself again, and did the math. She weighs 39 pounds, almost nine pounds heavier than at her two-year checkup in September. I'm not saying what I weighed, except that it's a three-digit number that does not start with a 2. Or a 3.

When we got home, I asked Mikey what his optimum weight was (he's 6'2") and then I told him I weighed more than that. And then I told him seriously to quit buying the fucking chips already! Because if they're there, I will eat them! He finally agreed that we have to quit it with the cookies and the chips and the cakes and the chocolate, because he's packing several extra pounds his own dang self.

And then I measured Britt -- she's 35 inches tall now, almost two inches taller than she was at her two-year checkup -- and looked up a height/weight chart for her age and saw that she needs to quit it with the cookies and the chips and the cakes and the chocolate, too. She really doesn't look overweight to me, but I don't want to get her headed down that road already.

If I wasn't so happy about having my car back, I'd be feeling really depressed about all this.