Well, it’s official. I am a big-baby making machine. Really, it doesn’t surprise me. I knew what I was signing up for when I married my 6’3’’ knight in shining armor, who at his birth was a whopping 10 lbs 11 oz., 24 inches long. Gailey men just come big.
Today, my doctor was actually trying to suppress a fit of giggles as he called my unborn child, “robust”. Thanks doc. I guess it’s not considered couth to call your patient’s baby “fat” to her face. Sadly, I can see through cleverly used synonyms. But for the benefit of my son, I am going to use the term, “above average”. Indeed, you cannot argue that 97th percentile in utero is not quite the achievement.
For the record, I love my doctor. He’s great. Plus he shows strength in being able to hold his composure while discussing MY weight. Maybe only baby fat is funny…?
Here’s hoping that they decide to smoke the baby out before he becomes indefinitely wedged. As for me, I am giving up prenatal care. I can be laughed at anywhere else, for free.