We have to get the tiny baby back up to his birth weight. I have mentioned this before. To track his progress, we put him on the kitchen scale:
He is really not a fan of this process. Can you blame him? He fits in a bowl, for Pete's sake.
And what am I doing? Ohhh... taking pictures of him crying.
A few moments of thought and I remember an acrylic tray in our pantry. He seems to like this much better:
I like that he is 6 pounds 12 ounces and is within shouting distance of those last two ounces he needs. Grow, Fuzzy, GROW!