So it’s no secret that I over-analyse and that I am a worrier… But in the past month I’ve became increasingly worried about Cameron’s weight.
Every single time I’m out and about I get people saying the same thing (aside from “he’s so cute!” and “how old is he?” and “he’s active isn’t he?”) which is undoubtedly “he’s petite/skinny/little isn’t he?”.
It’s usually said in a friendly way, without malice or hurtful intent… and each time I just smile and nod and say something along the lines of “yeah, he’s just built like that”
But part of me sinks a little and I store it away into the mummy-guilt-pocket in my brain where I know I’ll continue to feed the worry that I’m somehow doing something wrong by him.
He’s a decent eater but certainly not a big eater by any means. He gets a good combination of proteins, carbs and good fats and guzzles breastmilk like it’s the nectar of the Gods.
But he also is always on the move crawling, bouncing, standing, climbing, scooting… you get the picture. He has a fast metabolism and burns those calories like it’s his job.
So I casually made a doctors appointment the other day. & today I worked myself up into a frenzy of guilt-induced-fear where I said things like “I’m an awful Mum!” “He’s malnourished!” “I must make skim milk!” “I’m going to start giving him formula!” “I’ve been so ignorant!” as time grew nearer to his appointment.
Let me firstly say that my doctor is awesome. I’m happy to travel the 20 mins and wait to see her instead of going around the corner because she knows me, she gets me and she gets what I need.
She was there when I found out that I had lost Ollie. She was the one holding my hand saying “you can do this”. She was the one who was proactive and helped me as we TTC again. She was the one who quietly rejoiced with me when my bloods came back positive. She was the one who said “is that Rachel? Yeah, put her through” and told me my HCG levels over the phone each time while I was pregnant with Cameron because she knew that I just.couldn’t.wait.
& she saw me at my worst, in those dark days when I was a shell of myself clinging to a piece of paper outlining how I was feeling throughout my anxiety attacks – who helped me and never judged me. She smiles wide every time she sees us and let’s Cameron play with her instruments. She’s awesome.
Anyway, today she saw it in my eyes… that on-the-edge-ness. She went through the usual checks with him and said in her sweet English accent “Okay… so he’s grown heaps in height since his 6 month check up and his head circumference is spot on. You are right, he hasn’t put on much weight… but let’s put this into perspective. You and your husband were skinny babies. He’s obviously very active *says as he’s racing across the room to bang the scales with a tool of hers* but healthy. I’m going to refer you to a paediatrician just to make sure all is well but he’s still well within normal ranges, particularly for an active breastfed baby”
Relief. So he’s only 7.5 kgs (10th percentile in the red book but 15th on breastfed charts) but is 72 cm long. My skinny mini. Considering I was 15 kilograms when I was 5 years old (weighed when I got my massive tonsils and adenoids removed which made it harder for me to eat and breath at the same time) I guess he’s just following in our foot steps?
I think babies grow how they grow and my boy is healthy… But I’ll probably continue to worry… because that’s part of my job as a Mumma.