I had every intention to talk about weight loss today but I’m postponing that until next week. Why? Two reasons. 1) I think I’m about to finally break past this plateau of weight and 2) This is more important. What’s more important? Breastfeeding, Failure to Thrive, LittleBrother and some ranting, raving and a bit of tooting my own darn horn.
Remember my big rant about people referring to LittleBrother as tiny? Let me tell you, that was a good post. I got so many comments and e-mails and instant messages telling me that, no, LittleBrother is not tiny. But you know what? When someone plants a seed of doubt, man, that thing just takes hold and sprouts a huge tree with roots in places like your heart and mind and soul. And so. I broke down.
I stepped on the scale with LittleBrother. And my heart sank.
The scale, non-digital and not new, didn’t read any different than the doctor’s office scale for his four month appointment. And this was just days before he turned six months old. Panic set in. But I put it off for a day or two, asking some trusted nursing mothers their opinions on whether or not to trust my old scale. I did well ignoring my fears until our Wii Fit arrived. One day after I weighed myself, I picked him up and reweighed us together. After he finally stopped squirming around and the balance board stopped yelling at us to hold still, my fears were reaffirmed. No difference.
And so on the Saturday morning that he turned six months old, I took LittleBrother to the hospital for a weight check with the lactation consultant. I fed him all night the night before as he started his six month growth spurt. I put him on the scale. And it read exactly one pound higher than two months prior. From four to six months, babies should gain at least four ounces per week (two pounds per month). And LittleBrother only gained two ounces per week.
My mind started spinning as things like Failure to Thrive were mentioned and I was told to call my doctor on Tuesday morning to schedule an appointment. I started doubting everything I had done over the past two months. Wasn’t I eating enough fat in general? I mean, yes, I like salads, but I also like pizza. Should I be eating more fat? Would healthy fats help? Like avocado? And nuts? Should I add Fish Oil to my diet?
FireDad shrugged the whole Failure to Thrive off, reminding me that the kid had been rolling with consistency since he was two months old. He’s a mover and shaker. FireDad also mentioned his own metabolism. (In case you haven’t noticed, FireDad isn’t rotund.) But I was in panic mode. No amount of “he’s fine” was going to suffice.
As we had just started solids (more on that next week!), I mashed up some avocado and fed it to him. I ate a bunch of avocado. And some pizza rolls. (What? You don’t eat when you’re stressed?) And I nursed the heck out of the kid. And finally his appointment arrived. He weighed in three ounces heavier than he was five days earlier. I mentally knew this to be a good thing but I wanted the lactation consultant’s scale to be wrong. I wanted him to be two pounds heavier.
As I sat and waited our Pediatrician, Dr. S, to enter the room, I felt like I could vomit. I didn’t want to be told that something was wrong with my baby. I didn’t want to be told that I should supplement with formula. I wanted everything to be fine. I wanted to provide for my child. I wanted him to be healthy. And I wanted everyone to STOP CALLING HIM TINY.
Dr. S came in, asked a few questions, looked over LittleBrother and said, “He’s fine.” I breathed for the first time in five days. He gave us some possible reasoning. Perhaps he was moving and shaking it off. Perhaps he did have his Dad’s metabolism. Perhaps he was just a smaller (not tiny!) dude. And all of that was okay. No mention of formula. Instead, we were told to continue on as we had been doing and just add solids as we had been planning. No rush on food. No set schedule. Just go about our parenting business.
And while I’m relieved, I’m writing this to tell you: trust your gut. If you feel that your child is just fine, he probably is. If he’s hitting appropriate milestones and happy and doesn’t seem to be freaking-out-hungry after you finish a feeding, trust that your body is providing all the right stuff for your child. It’s so easy to freak out and feel like your body is “failing” your child, especially when someone mentions “Failure” to Thrive. But, chances are, you’re doing just fine. And your child is doing just fine. And everything will be just fine.
I mean, honestly, does this kid look like he’s failing to thrive?
I think not.
2. I don’t hate being a work-slash-stay at home mom and I don’t feel guilty about leaving the “workforce.” When I was pregnant with BigBrother, I went on and on about how I was going to remain a working mother. I looked down my nose at mothers who chose to stay home. I thought that they lacked ambition and that they were setting a poor example for their children. (Wait! Stop throwing tomatoes! I get my come uppance in a second! Keep reading!) Then BigBrother was born and my world was turned upside down. I went back to work and hated every moment of it. Okay, not every moment. I loved the thrill of the live newscast. And that one time that I wore BigBrother in a front carrier while switching a live newscast? Yes, that was a good moment. (See photo.) But the other moments sucked. When he neared eight months old and was crawling, babbling and hitting a million milestones per day, I ate crow, turned in my two weeks notice and came on home with my tail between my legs. And oh, being home, whether I’m just mothering for an entire day or throwing in one of my many freelancing jobs into the mix, is a million times harder than I ever thought it would be. So, while I’m not so proud of the judgment that I previously tossed at mothers who stay home, I am proud of the fact that I am thriving in my role as a stay-slash-work at home mom and enjoying almost every minute of it. (Really? Did I mention that BigBrother peed on my lap last week? Not my favorite moment.)