My great-nephew-slash-grandson turned one today, and to abate his older sister's horror at the idea that her baby brother was too young for a “real” birthday party, everyone met at McDonald's. McD's won out over other suggestions because it has a playground! and it was the one place Erin and Miko knew the kids wouldn't wind up whining to leave after twenty minutes. Fifteen minutes after getting there Toni and Kevin were in the playground, and luckily Rachel and Alex didn't mind watching them.

It beats, Rachel said with a perfected teenaged dramatic sigh, watching Travis mangle his chicken nuggets.

(As they wandered off, Char mused that it also beat watching Alex inhale two Big Macs, and she didn't want to contemplate how many fries he would consume before we left. She tried bribing the kids to keep them from actually eating anything there, but they're not stupid; they know when to take advantage, and there was no way she would forbid it if everyone was there for Travis's birthday.)

Travis is a kid that loves to eat, but give him a chicken nugget and he will sit there and methodically peel off the coating, set it aside, rip the nugget into several pieces, and then slowly eat it piece by tiny piece, saving the coating for last.

Give him a box with four nuggets, and you assure you're going to be there a while. Give him a few fries, and you have peace and quiet for at least forty five minutes.

He was into the third nugget when Kevin dropped onto the booth next to me, bemoaning the idea that he's gotten too old for the playground. It's not fun anymore, and it smells like pee. Toni came after him, begging him to go back and play, and he relented, but with a look that said You owe me for this.

From where I sat I could see Alex and Rachel sitting at a table in the playground area, side by side, practically leaning against each other, and I couldn't help but be struck by the realization that my sister and I would have been on opposite sides of the table, and if we'd actually touched, one or both of us would have been complaining about it. My kids were laughing together (probably about their parents) but I would have sat there in stony silence with my sister, watching whatever kid we were in charge of, and resenting that I had to be there in the first place.

My kids are already better people than I was at their age.

By the time Travis had finally finished eating, Kevin and Toni were done in the play area and ready for ice cream and cake; the birthday boy was more interested in feeding finger-smashed chunks of cake to his mother than he was in eating any himself. I have to give Erin credit, she never flinched, and that's one thing that used to mostly turn my stomach when the kids were little. Spit-riddled, finger-smashed, sticky cookies and Cheerios grossed me out and still do; she let him shove cake covered fingers into her mouth without blinking.

It never bothered Char, either, so I'm considering the possibility that it's a maternal thing.

On the way out to the parking lot I realized my niece, who is due in early May, looks like she's closer to 8 months along than 7, but I forgot that if you think something like that you should keep it to yourself, or the pregnant woman will swing her 50 pound purse at you while shrieking I am not having twins! It's just a big baby! Now, I didn't say anything about twins; I was considering that she was further along than supposed, but I think now she's doomed herself.

I kind of hope it's triplets, just because she actually connected with the purse, and smacked it into my still bruised ass.

In any case, Travis turned a year old today; he's making motions of wanting to walk, and as much as everyone wants to see him take those first steps, I know too well that once they get started, they just keep on going.

The kids hate it, but every year we drag them to the doctor for a physical, and because they have relative free schedules, we always make the appointments over Christmas break. You can imagine how excited they get over the potential for immunizations right before Christmas. This year we delayed it until just before New Year's Eve, when the only one who might be inconvenienced by post-inoculation pain and malaise would be Alex. We're fair parents like that.

We dragged them out of bed early today, shoved them each toward a shower, then fed them, and amidst a plethora of complaining pushed them into the car and took them for the annual end-of-the-year exam and emotional torture. They've seen the same pediatrician since birth, and while they grumble the entire ride, once they're in the waiting room (the same place where Alex once dropped his pants to demonstrate that he was 'a big boy') they're fine and at least partially animated. They go in one at a time; I stay in the waiting room with the kids not being examined and Char goes in with the kid being poked at.

The waiting room was loaded with kids today, mostly hacking and wheezing kids with snot dripping down their faces. Alex sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, watching them with bareky contained repulsion, and I realized this kid was head and shoulders above most of the people in the room, parents included. He tolerated it because he had to be there, but he wasn't happy about it.

Kevin went in first, followed by Rachel; when it was Alex's turn, he asked Char if she would mind if I went back with him. She tried not to grin; she expected it and could hardly blame him for not wanting to strip down to his underwear in front of her. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of sitting there in his briefs with me in the room, either, but that was more tolerable.

But, we were both met with the unexpected; instead of turning left once through the door the nurse took us right, and settled us into the doctor's office instead of an exam room.

It's time, the doctor felt, for Alex to start seeing another physician instead. He was free to stay with the pediatric clinic if he was more comfortable, but the issues he would be facing in the next few years would possibly be better addressed by an adolescent pediatrician, or even the physician his mother and I see. His oldest patients tend to be under 12 (I gathered that after that parents transition their kids to their own doctors) and while he can treat Alex, there are things he may not do as well with (and left unsaid: Alex is 14 stuffed into the body of a 17-18 year old. He probably has more body hair than 10 of his typical patients combined.)

Alex opted to start seeing my doctor; we left there with an appointment for later in the day; once we were there I went to the exam room with him for about 15 minutes, After the doctor came in and introduced himself to Alex, I was invited (pushed) to go back to the waiting room.

Whatever they were going to discuss, I was not going to be a part of it. I was well aware that I could insist on staying, or speak with the doctor after the fact, but Alex made the move to a new doctor for a reason, and I can respect his privacy.

Not that I didn't ask him on the way home how it went.

Same old shit. Breathe deep, exhale. Touch your toes. Turn your head and freaking cough. Does he make you do that? I only had to do that on sports physical before.

He was assured that yes, I have to do that. And was relieved he's far too young to worry about a prostate exam.

Still. Today was another reminder that he's this much closer to being an adult. The kid who dropped his pants in the waiting room when he was two said goodbye to the doctor who hadn't intended to get that sort of response to his questions twelve years ago.

He's another inch taller. He's 6'1". He hit 165 pounds, and it's all muscle.

He needs a haircut, but I'm reticent to suggest it, because that thick moppet hair is about the only thing that suggests he's as young as he is.

This whole getting older thing kind of sucks.

Best part for all the kids: no shots this time.