¡Grande Bebe!
I was a big baby. For a long time, this was kind of embarrassing for me to admit. Given that I was born to a petite woman of 5’1″, my size was surprising. However, I was also 13 days late, so I had almost two full weeks to keep packing on the pounds. By the end, my mom tells me that people on the street would actually point and laugh–she was that big.
“How big?” you ask. 10 pounds, 12 ounces, 22 inches long. Yup. Big.
After giving birth to Gargantua, when she found out she was pregnant with my little sister, my mother vowed she would not have another large baby. So she watched what she ate, maintained a fairly high level of activity and only gained 16 pounds total during her pregnancy. Still, Katie-did came out weighing a mere pound less than I: 9 pounds, 12 ounces.
Some people are just bred big, I guess.
(I might be divulging a little too much about my family right now.)
Anyway, when I read this story, I wasn’t as impressed as I’m sure some people will be. A 14 pound baby? Shrug. So?
Still, I wonder if his mother will ever produce enough breast milk to feed him. Or how long it will take for her organs to go back to the right places. Or if she’ll ever be able to maintain bladder control again.
And with those questions comes another: do I need to apologize to my own mother?