14 lbs, 8 oz.

Lizzie gained weight. And the pediatrician again complimented her on her strength and just overall development. She took her shots very well and was so woozy that she let Hanh hold her for a long time and then fell asleep in the buggy (or pram, as it is also called here). Now she's sleeping and I have my heart set on walking to Baker & Spice this afternoon so I'm certain she'll sleep until five and ruin my plan. Which is not bad for the ol' waistline, I suppose, but I spend far more time than I will admit on this blog thinking about those chocolate and almond croissants, which are better than the cinnamon buns for anyone who remembers. Anyway, I love the pediatrician and I feel sort of sheepish for not using NHS but you know what? He called me last week to discuss the chickenpox and whether Lizzie would live or not (the pharmacist at Boots led me to believe there was actually a question and told me to take her to hospital immediately -- no, not THE hospital, just to hospital because that's what they say here), and then today we discussed it some more, and we also talked about a question I had about Tommy, AND he looked in Lizzie's ears because she's been tugging at them. You get what you pay for??? Or you pay for what you're used to? I think that's the real issue -- that in the US we had a pediatrician who knew the kids and me (and how neurotic I am) and I like that.

I hope you all have good weekends. When iPhoto stops acting like little jerk, I'll post the cute picture promised in my last post. I did not forget.