Pound for Pound

One of the hardest things about breastfeeding Rain is that the last generation of parents, on the whole, didn't breastfeed. Consequently, as grandparents, they tend to have a mistrust towards breasts as a food source. Forget that breasts have, since humans have been in existence, kept us in existence, they think, if it doesn't come in a can, it can't be good. I get a lot of, "How do you know Rain's getting enough to eat?," "She's crying again, so she's probably still hungry," and "Why can't you give her just a little formula, you know, to make sure she's had enough."

The other factor at play here is that I come from a family of shorties (5' 2" to 5'6" is standard). All our babies our stout specimens ready for a Butterball ad. My husband is 6 feet tall. Rain, thankfully, takes after Tim. Since birth, she's stretched out more than she's filled out. She is in the 75th percentile for height (meaning, I think, that she's bigger than 75 percent of kids her age) but only the 50th percent for weight. Yes, I realize that makes her average, but that's not acceptable in my family. For the first 2.5 months of Rain's life, I constantly had to hear sermons from my ma & grandma about giving her more, more, more. Once, Tim busted my mom slipping Rain a taste of ice cream. Even though Rain's pediatrician constantly told me she was right on target, I let doubt overtake me. What if she isn't getting enough? What if something is wrong with me? Maybe I should give her formula, too, to cover my bases. All those thoughts caused for some miserable feedings with Rain. Moms are supposed to be relaxed to be able to feed, and I was sitting there terrified that my breasts were defective.

A week ago, Rain had her check-up. She weighed 13.5 lbs. Her cousin, who is a month older, is a hair's breadth away from 20. I was just at a party where another child, 3 weeks older than Rain, was in the 97th percentile for weight. Rain, in comparison, looked like she just came out of the womb.

This last appointment was pivotal for me. "She only weighs 13.5 lbs??" I said in despair to the nurse. "Is that normal?" The nurse assured me it was, and I had to have a moment of reckoning. The fact is, Rain will likely be tall, which means she won't put on the weight I want her to. Acceptance. Acceptance. I sighed and realized that was the way things were going to be. I had to stop comparing her to other kids.

Every morning, I tell Rain, "Look at your chubby little thighs! I bet they're juicy. I think I'll have them for breakfast. Maybe lunch and dinner, too ..." She smiles, and I kiss her fat--well, decently plump--legs. That will have to be good enough for now (so no more lectures, Ma!).