More to Love

You are looking at the thighs of a fat boy. Since I took this picture a week ago, that small second roll that you see forming underneath the large roll has taken on a life of it's own. I'm considering filing a paternity suit against this man:

We made our 12 week visit to our pediatrician today and the chunk topped the scales at a hearty 17 pounds 2 ounces. That means Mac gained exactly 5 pounds in exactly 6 weeks. This should not come as a surprise to any of us since Mac is now chugging 12 - 14 ounces at a time in the evenings. No. They don't make bottles that big. Thanks for asking.

Sweet Dr. S. tells me there is no cause for alarm. His weight puts him ABOVE the 97% percentile which caused Aunt Marpa to wonder if there really are kids out there bigger than Mac. It doesn't seem possible. Thankfully, he has the length and head circumference to balance out all that weight. He's in the 95% percentile for both of those measurements, too which makes Mac an all around beef cake of a kid. There's just more to love, my friends.

She did give me the go ahead to start him on some solids. He needs the bulk to fill his stomach, but not the added calories. I did confess to trying some cereal with him 2 weeks ago. He wasn't impressed. You remember that scene in the movie BIG when Tom Hanks ate the caviar? That's similar to what Mac did when that spoonful of rice cereal was introduced into his mouth.

Auntie Gina will tell you I perfected that move long before BIG ever hit movie theaters. It's true. That is SO my shtick.

So tomorrow morning we will give the cereal another try with some added bananas for a flavor enhancer. Perhaps we can start going broke buying pureed fruit now instead of formula.


In many respects, Mac is much like his older sister as an infant. He's super laid back - rarely gets upset - has an easy grin - and is a champion sleeper. He's now sleeping a solid 10 hours most nights. In fact we've now reached this beautiful nirvana where both kids are tucked in bed asleep at 8:30pm and we don't hear a peep from either of them until 6:30am in the morning. This is a beautiful thing.


At our visit with Dr. S today she took a good look at Mac's little "man package." Mac was born with a hydrocele - which essentially means his scrotum is full of fluid. It's extremely common and nothing to worry about. It usually resolves itself by 1 year. To be quite honest friends, I find it rather unnerving, and it is the sole reason I don't AT ALL enjoy cleaning him up after a good colon blow. We women have been schooled in the extreme sensitivity of that particular piece of equipment, right? So my little man has this gargantuan fluid filled scrotum that I have to manipulate to clean around and under. Sometimes there is some light scrubbing involved, too. It's unseemly. If Jay is anywhere within a 10 mile radius, I leave it to him. I'm looking forward to deflation day - that's all I have to say about that.

Dear Mac, I'm sorry I talked about your scrotum on the internet. Please forgive me.

So Dr. S. was giving it the once over today and she seemed to get a tad concerned that perhaps the fluid had abated and the swelling was now due to a hernia. Mac hasn't seemed to be in any pain, so this whole hernia thing didn't have me in too much distress. But she insisted I take him for an ultrasound immediately after our appointment. So I meet Jay in a parking lot to hand off Lois and drive through a torrential downpour to the imaging center. Oddly enough, Lois had visited this very same imaging center that very morning to have her CT scan (we'll save that story for another day) and 6 hours later I appear again with my other kid in tow.


After the sweet office ladies greet me and we have a good laugh over the strange set of circumstances that has landed me in their office twice in one day with 2 different kids, they ask me to fill out the same set of paperwork I filled out 6 hours before. I consider pointing out just how inane that is, but I sit like a dutiful mother, fill out the same contact and insurance information for a second time, and return it to the office lady. Shortly after, she slides the window open and says:

"You put 09, but you mean 08, right?"

blank stare from Catherine.

"You put that he was born in 09, but he was born in 08, right?

"Uh.....no. He was born in 09."

"But that's THIS year?"

At this point I'm wondering if maybe I AM wrong.

"Right. He's only 3 months old."

When those words leave my mouth, the woman bounds out of her seat, throws the window open the whole way and says:

"HE IS NOT! He's HUGE!"


Something tells me I should probably get used to this.