My son entered the world weighing a hefty eight pounds, nine ounces. Even though babies traditionally lose weight after they’re born, by the time we went to the pediatrician a week later, he was already well over nine pounds. And he just kept going. At his two month visit he was 12 pounds, at three months he was sixteen pounds. By the time he was six months old, he was well into size four diapers and size 18 month clothes. At eight months now he weighs about two pounds less than his two-year-old sister. He’s consistently at the 97th percentile mark, and recently hit the 100th percentile in height. (At five feet tall, I was especially proud of that.)
To put it mildly, he’s a big boy.
Because he’s so hefty he gets mistaken for an older baby. “He isn’t walking yet?” people ask.
“He’s only seven months,” I say, shifting him to the other hip.
“Oh,” they say. “Well, you’ve got a little football player on your hands there!” or “He’s going to play sports for sure.”
And it’s not just folks who see him in the grocery store. Comes from family members as well, who are already envisioning being on the 50-yard line during my son’s game-winning Super Bowl drive.
For some reason, this irks me. No, I think to myself, he’s not going to play sports. He’s just going to be a really burly surgeon, with extra-large scrubs…
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