My Chunky Monkey

Every time Adam calls the Doodlebug fat, I protest. My family isn't, shall we say, weight-tolerant. It's a sensitive topic in the house and I don't want my son to have the poor body image that's plagued me all my life. Yet, we're reaching a point where it's difficult for even me to deny. My son is, um, Rubenesque. Zaftig, you might say. A bit round. I had to 'fess up to myself when the Doodlebug's khakis, which are still too long for him, didn't button around his waist. Although to say "waist" is a real stretch, as there is only pooch. Admitting defeat, the Doodlebug and I went out shopping today for clothes. Of course, since it's January, places had primarily their summer clothes out, and considering the heat wave we've been having (hey, it hit 22 today!), I stocked up. Actually a few places had winter clothes buried in the back, so I was able to pick up a few outfits for him. Yet, I can tell you, he's going to look a little silly in them. Because an informal weighing shows that our son is 17 pounds. Not a bad weight for someone who's about to turn five months. But he's about 24 inches long. I picked up two 6 to 12 month outfits at Old Navy. The weight range is perfect: 17-22 lbs. But apparently, at that weight, babies are expected to be 27-29 inches long.

On Saturday we visited friends with a brand-spanking new baby. Another couple, with their ten-month-old daughter, T., was there. Of course, being fraternity guys, the question came up of which baby would win in a fight. It was generally agreed upon that T. has the advantage of mobility and reach, but the Doodlebug could just keep her moving until he tired her out and then he would win by simply falling on her. That's my boy.