Reid hit the doctor's office Monday for his four months appointment. The big news, of course, was the addition of two tiny little mini-chicklet teeth in the bottom of his mouth. I will endeavor to draw his screaming ire and post a photograph of the little baby incisors in short order.

It feels okay, then, to confirm that Reid is effectively no longer accessing his mother's milk, um, directly. While he enjoys some of the seemingly endless supply of frozen breastmilk, Reid has also met with a formula-dealership, and has arranged a nice little deal. The addition of the formula has had interesting side effects. The gifts he leaves for his caretaking parents in his little pants have transformed into something fierce and dreadful and new. But they only seem to come about twice a day. Also, he has surprisingly bad, chalky breath, like he gobbles Rolaids all day long. Weird.

But it seems that Reid's transition to slowly depleting his stash of frozen breastmilk and otherwise relying on his new best friend the formula hasn't really affected him that much. He still smiles, and he still rewards you at unexpected times with a half-laugh, or a wry sideways grin, and when he does, it's pure gold.

But the trip to the doctor was also rewarding in the world of statistics. He is some kind of tall baby, measuring in now at 26½ inches, which puts him into the 97th percentile for height. He has not gained a ton of weight, instead apparently devoting resources to getting taller. He now weighs 15½ pounds, and he is at something like (I don't remember exactly) the 70th percentile for weight. My son, the percentile conqueror.

The doctor said that he was good in many different ways, and K and I celebrated our successful parenting by acting nervous and jumpy, like junkies. He asked why he touches his ears. The doctor said, "Babies touch their ears." She looked into the ears with a thingamawhatsis and they were fine. We asked if he was supposed to brush his teeth.

She said, "Teeth?"

It is apparent that Reid's decision to launch his teeth upon the world prior to reaching the four-month mark is impressive. The doctor quickly inspected them, and then looked at us as if to ask, "which one of you is responsible for this?"

"I had teeth at four months," I reply sheepishly.

"Great!" Sighs of relief fill the room. We are to buy the Orajel toothpaste and plastic tooth-rubbing device that fits over a parent's finger. This is a previously unknown piece of baby-related merchandise. We will buy it immediately.

With that, Reid was turned over to a nurse full of needles for some injections, DPT and all that. He screamed like a banshee. K couldn't watch. I held him while one, two, three needles were plunged into his meaty little thighs. It hurt me to the bone. Everything that makes him cry does.