My favorite baby is ten weeks old.
He had his 2 month exam and vaccinations last week. He weighs 14 pounds. Or did last week. He’s probably up to 20 pounds now. I’m pretty sure he is full of dark matter. Or it’s possible that he has the density of a dying sun. Little man is HEAVY.
I have a hard time with confrontation or disagreements in general. And once I commit to something, it’s hard for me to walk away. So I get all sneaky about it. I’m telling you this because…
I’ve decided to go with another pediatrician. Dr. Moustache is knowledgeable and he’s been a pediatrician for 30 years, but I’m starting to think that may be too long. He’s tried to push formula on me twice now. I don’t like that. I was asking him about fussiness and explaining the McCloud’s new found love of spitting up all the time, and he suggested he is fussy because he isn’t getting enough to eat while I’m at work and that we should supplement with formula. But he’s in the 90th percentile for his weight, so clearly he is getting enough to eat, otherwise he wouldn’t be such a chub and his glorious neck rolls would be far less glorious and maybe he would only have one leg roll instead of one thousand. Also, Dr. Moustache was late for our appointment, then rushed through it. There’s a reason I schedule the first appointment of the day and that is because my time is valuable. So, goodbye Dr. Moustache. I’ve found someone new. We are transferring to Dr. Soul Patch. Unacceptable facial hair aside, he seemed more compatible with me anyway. And my midwife thought he and I would work well together when I suggested him as a potential pediatrician.
One of my friends who also recently had a son had a super shitty, c-section happy doctor. She had a high risk pregnancy and was on bed rest at the end of her pregnancy and they were talking about inducing early because her baby was too big and that was the argument for the c-section or something, but the baby was born close to McCloud’s birth weight. I feel that, as ladies, we often times don’t want to rock the boat so we just accept whatever doctor we have chosen because we don’t want to be rude or something, but I’m going to tell you all something very important:
You can do whatever you want. You are paying these doctors, so it’s your choice. You can switch to a different OB or midwife when you’re 39 weeks pregnant if you want to for whatever reason you want to. Or you can switch pediatricians. And you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Granted, I’m a big fat chicken-y chicken, so I’m not telling Dr. Moustache that I’m leaving him, but I also don’t think he would care even if I did. What would I say? “Sorry, Doc, I’ve found someone else with different facial hair.”
Back to Hamburglar’s 2 month exam, though: He’s in the 90th percentile for head circumference and weight, but right in the middle for length. So, what I think the doc was trying to tell me is: he’s a giant headed fatty. I’ve unofficially changed his names to Chubs McBabylegs. And sometimes I call him Chumbawumba. And I was telling Mr. Adventure all about how the band Chumbawamba went into the future and met our baby and that’s how they came up with their band name. Because I like to make up stories.
Last night I was singing a song to the wee babe about how I was going to eat his head or how there is vomit in his neck rolls or something and I turned to Mr. Adventure and our conversation went something like this:
Me: How long do you think it will take for the wee babe, McCloud, to realize that I am completely insane?
Mr. Adventure: By the time he’s 6 or 7.
I thought for a moment, then asked, “What if I stop singing to him?”
Mr. Adventure: Then you probably have until he’s 9 or 10.
So, happy Thanksgiving everyone! I’m thankful that my son is too young to know how batty I am and that Mr. Adventure and the dogs don’t care.