The Americans never walk. In winter too cold and in summer too hot. ~J.B. Yeats

My friend Rebecca Ann calls it "Lazy White Boy Syndrome". I attribute it to a contented state of mind and a giant head. Elijah sat up late, rolled over late (almost never), crawled late, pulled up late, and is now walking late. Although he has been able to walk since December, he rarely does it of his own volition. At his last checkup the doctor showed mild concern, and I was resolved that we didn't need a specialist. After all, he is showing steady improvement, and his gross motor skill curve just seems a little longer than most.

I knew that today's 18 month checkup would entail the doctor asking about his walking, and I was resolved to avow that I didn't want to go to a specialist. (Translation: I don't want to pay for or deal with it.) The doc said they would be giving us a referral because although everything looked okay there could be some underlying weakness in his ankles and whatnot. She was more concerned that he doesn't stand up by himself without grabbing something than anything else. Of course I immediately caved. This is of course the woman whose professional opinion I hold in highest esteem, the woman whose presence was the only thing that relaxed me when Elijah was in the NICU, the woman who is always affirmative of all my parenting choices. So we'll be seeing a specialist soon and doing who knows what kind of craziness as a result.

After my lack of spine was revealed we treated ourselves to Chick-fil-A. If only the developmental markers pediatricians tracked included affinity for ice cream we would be set.