What is it about baby stats that makes them seem like such HUGE markers of parental success? We have our four-month well babies visit in just a few hours and my anxiety is through the roof. If either baby has fallen off their growth track it will be such a gut punch. Especially because I stopped nursing since our last visit. Doctor is not going to like that. But, you know what, tough shit. I did what I thought (and still think) is best for my family.
Still, there’s something about being trapped in that room at the pediatricians office with your tiny naked baby (or babies) that just makes you feel so exposed and open to criticism. As if a parent could possibly control their child’s physical make up and predispositions. As if I can force C man to eat more when he clearly despises eating anything, including breast milk, probably due to an immature digestive system or maybe GERD or something.
But they get to you, with that tiny room, the long wait, the heat, the screams from adjacent rooms. It’s like a freaking haunted house for parents. By the time the doctor finally finishes and the kids are howling from their shots even I believe it’s all my fault, whatever it is.
These are the days to bless the makers of baby Tylenol and your favorite red wine (or burbon). These are the days to order takeout for dinner and give your spouse an extra big hug at bedtime. These are the days when hard feels even harder.
(For those interested, we did okay. Out of single digit percentiles for height and head but still under 10th percentile for weight. That’s okay though; they started small and are chugging along just fine)