The sumo wrestler

JW's mom has a wallet with four spaces for pictures, just enough for her four grandkids. For a long time there were four pictures of K in there, until the other three arrived in the space of 13 months. When she shows off the pictures, she points to each child in turn and says, "My grandchildren: the Sumo Wrestler, the Brainiac, the Tornado, and Miss Priss."

The Brainiac is K, despite his assertion this morning that "when you recycle boxes, they get crushed up, and then they go to Santa, and Santa gives them to the elves, and the elves make stuff out of them." (Like what? "Like milk bottles and milk pumps." So my instrument of torture comes from Santa and cardboard boxes.)

The Sumo Wrestler is X. X is only in the 35th percentile for height and weight (although considering he hasn't pooped in six days, his weight percentile has probably increased) but his chunky thighs are something to behold. We had to stop using the Bumbo seat because he would get stuck in it. I had to push his thighs down to fit into the little holes, and when I tried to pick him up the entire seat would come with him.

X seems so much bigger and more solid lately. I feel like one day I'll turn around and he'll be a little boy.