Advice

Gillian Fern: 4 months old

Gil went in for her 4 month check up two weeks ago. She's in the 50th percentile for her height. No big surprises there, as the poor child's mother doesn't even make it to 5' 3". And she is in the 90th percentile for her weight. Again. No surprise.

Me. 4 Months. Gilli looks downright teeny in comparison.

What was surprising was the talk I got from the doctor after Gil was weighed. You know which one I mean, right? The healthy-habits-healthy-food-childhood-obesity-at-the-top-of-the-weight-curve-maybe-you're-feeding-her-too-much talk.  I got the same talk from her when Mae was at the 90th percentile at 4 months, and when Bela was a bit too chubby for her taste at 2 years.

As parents we are often the target of unsolicited advice when it comes to our kids. It comes from all corners: family, friends, strangers on the street  (like the lady who stopped Chris to tell him he was poisoning baby Bela by letting her drool on our key chain.) All well meaning, for sure. As a new parent it can feel overwhelming, and has the tendency to shake up your burgeoning self-confidence in your new role as mommy or daddy to a little one. But even a veteran parent can fall victim to opinion and advice, especially when it comes from the child's own pediatrician.

I usually descend upon our pediatrician's office with the understanding that I am not going to agree with 85% of what she is going to say to me. I put in my two minutes of active presence with her by answering the common milestone questions (Does she roll over one way? Can she hold her head up by herself? Does she respond to your voice?) and then my eyes begin to glaze over as she drones on about vitamins, medicine, or transitioning a then 4 week old Gillian out of our room (apparently it is not advisable to sleep with your children near you) to her own room--as if that room even existed in our current apartment.

But when my pediatrician gives me a hard time about my kids' weight it really shakes me up. Maybe it's because my own self-image suffered so terribly through my teen years and into my twenties. Ok. And maybe into my thirties. Maybe it's because I'm afraid of watching that same thing (read, making that) happen to my own girls.

Or MAYBE it's because I am the mother of two older girls who are at perfect, healthy weights; who gladly sit down to a meal of lentils and spinach over toast; who eat more vegetables than most of my friends; and who spend a lot of healthy time outside.

I didn't let my eyes glaze over this time. I spoke up.

Me: "So, what you're saying is that I'm feeding her too much? Too much breast milk?
Her: It's possible. She may just be thirsty, but not hungry. I'd advise you to start giving her water before each feeding.
Me: So, what you're saying is that my four month old baby, who is breastfed by me every few hours when she seems hungry...what you're saying is that I should give her water instead? Instead of breast milk?
Her: Not instead. Just before. It might cut down on how much milk she is taking in. And I'd like you to start her on solids.
Me: (getting really annoyed and annoying) So, you'd like me to give my overweight breast fed baby more food? Solids? Now? At four months? Not 6 months? Not when she seems ready? You don't think that this is just who she is? Like her sisters? Look at them now - no problems.

Then she gave me the special smile I'm almost certain she reserves for me and mothers like me.

Her: Yes. (In a slow, I'm exasperated but incredibly patient way).
Me: Should I be worried about my heavy baby?
Her: Not worried. Just on alert.

And that was all the fight I had in me. And while I allowed my pediatrician, who has no children of her own,  to continue on with a detailed plan of how I should begin to introduce solids to my not yet ready 4 month old baby who probably shouldn't be sleeping in my room let alone sleeping in my bed, my eyes glazed over.