After thirty long hours of labor, my son came screaming into the world and the first thing anyone ever said about him was - "Look at those thighs! They are HUGE!"
When he was eighteen-weeks-old I had to take him to the local children's hospital for a blood test. There were two phlebotomists working in the lab both of whom were male and fairly good sized guys. The bigger of the two guys actually did the blood draw and he asked me how old my son was and I replied "18 weeks". To which he said "Seriously? He looks more like 18 months!" Then he yells to his co-worker to guess my kid's age. Then this guy asked why I had such a huge kid. Seriously? You want a genetic explanation for why my son is in the 95th percentile? I gave him some ramble about how my dad's family is tall and such, while secretly annoyed about the whole conversation because I know my kid is huge! I had just carried him around the hospital for 20 minutes after all.
When KC was about five months old, he had his second bad ear infection. He was on antibiotics but they didn't work. So over the 4th of the July weekend while my husband was out of town, I had to take him to the pediatrician. (Thankfully we live near a practice that is open 24/7.) When I took him in that Saturday morning I was very sleep deprived, miserable and a little unhinged because of the constant crying. Because it was a Saturday, we couldn't see our regular pediatrician and had to see the one that was working that day. The nurse that greeted us (also not our usual one) was about four foot ten and pregnant. While she was taking my son's vitals she said, "See, babies like you are born to mommies like her because if you came to me I wouldn't be able to carry you." Did she seriously just say that to me? I was still carrying extra weight from the pregnancy and her remark was the equivalent of kicking my while I'm lying on the ground huddled in the fetal position. Did I mention it was totally unprofessional too? I think I made it to the car with my screaming, huge baby before I started crying.
Whenever I take KC grocery shopping, without fail an elderly person comes up to him - touches his hands (thanks for the germs!) and says what a big guy he is or how he should be a linebacker. I have nothing against linebackers (my cousin was one) but my kid is not going to play football if I have anything to say about it and I often wonder if strangers are going to give my kid a complex about his size. All of that aside - the most irksome question that I keep getting asked over and over again is why my kid is huge. Um, because of genetics? Are they asking me for a family DNA profile? Does it really matter?
At fourteen months, the little man is about 31 lbs and nearly as tall as your average two-year-old. He likes to be held more now than he did at five or six months. Which is no easy feet for a gal who is about 5'6 and a medium build. I frequently think that God sent me a child who is almost more than I can carry.
So, if you see me at the grocery store and feel like commenting on my kid's size - believe me, I know he's huge.