I took CC to her 9 month well baby visit last week (And can we just pause for a moment to wonder where the hell the last 9 months went?? <-----> Damn.), a visit I was very much looking forward to. Not because she was going to get a shot and possibly revisit the great doctor's office meltdown of '08, because that sucked ass, but because it's always fun to see how much my babies have grown and changed and also because I can stop the incessant speculative questions from the relatives on the state of her weight and height.
CC has always been on the thin side. Long and lean, that's my girl. It's partly genetic and partly because, while she has a hearty appetite when it comes to solids, she's never been big on nursing.
In the beginning I was thrilled she was so efficient, but now she just can't be bothered most of the time. Places to go, people to see. Small, dangerous toys to swallow. She's a busy little girl. Which is why I wasn't too concerned about this well visit. Developmentally I knew she was doing better than fine; she crawls, cruises, sometimes she even stands unassisted for a few seconds. She uses her walker to run around the living room (Yes, run. She doesn't do anything slowly. Hold me.)
She's a pretty intelligent baby, if I do say so myself (ahem), and her curiosity is off the charts.
Unfortunately, so is her weight. She is so wee, she is literally not on the chart.
Three years ago this would have thrown me into a fit of self-flagellation. I would have driven home, wringing my hands the whole way (which makes driving difficult, btw), and stuck my head in the oven. Not a great idea when one has an electric oven, trust me. I would have thrown around words like "terrible mother" and "I suck" and "OMG, my BABY. My BAAA-AABY." But last week after the appointment I kind of shrugged and said, "Yep, that's what I thought. She's skinny." I told my husband, I told my in-laws, but I didn't freak out. So this is me, evolving.
Or I'm just numb to it all. Whatever.
On the height scale, she's 80th percentile. Head circumference, 50th. Weight, 0. She's 15 pounds and 12 of those are in her cheeks. Hopefully skinny jeans will still be in style when she's ready to wear them.
And speaking of clothing, that is our biggest problem in regard to her size. I have no problem that her arms are thinner than most her age or that her legs aren't as chubby, my problem is that we can't keep a pair of pants on the poor girl. She slides right out of them like a greased pig through... whatever a greased pig slides through. And if they fit, then they're up to her knees.
Do they make baby suspenders? Because that's what she needs. Or maybe duct tape. I don't think that's frowned upon too much if the tape isn't actually touching skin.
Obviously I am a teensy tiny bit worried about her weight or I wouldn't be writing about it so we're doing what we can to bulk her up a little. You know, avocado, formula in her morning cereal, protein shakes and anabolic steroids. Basic stuff like that. The good news is it seems to be working pretty well. The bad news is she's getting a hairy chest. But that was bound to happen anyway, the women in my family are naturally furry.
So she's tiny (and furry), she's freaking adorable and she plays a mean game of peekaboo. It's just too bad she has a babbling idiot for a mom.
Peek A Boo from Chicky Baby on Vimeo.