When I was pregnant, I watched A Baby Story with fervor bordering on obsession. My interest was mostly research-based: I learned of all the different events and difficulties that can accompany labor and send a woman's "birth plan" (a misnomer if not an oxymoron) ricocheting in a new, unexpected direction. I observed how women behaved while in labor and made promises to myself about what I would and would not do when my turn came. (As arrogant and foolish as it was to judge some of these women without having been in their shoes. . .er, stirrups, I can honestly report that I made good on all of these promises. I did not hit anyone, screech like something out of The Exorcist, or tell Brian that I hated him.) I'll admit, I also enjoyed the show as a sort of confidence boost: no matter how terribly my labor went, at least I wouldn't cope as badly as that woman did. Ah, schadenfreude.
There was one episode, however, that came back to me vividly after Xander was born and his true, gargantuan size revealed. An excited new dad runs out to the waiting room to announce the happy news of his son's birth to waiting family, and delivers the news in approximately these words: ". . .and he's seven pounds three ounces--a big boy!" A big boy?! Perhaps if you are from a family of jockeys or gymnasts seven three qualifies as big. But in the larger world with the rest of us, big, small and in between, seven three is pretty average. Sorry, Dad.
I readily admit that size is relative, or, more accurately, that perceptions of size are relative. (That baby was seven pounds three ounces no matter how you sliced it (like Solomon? Poor choice of words, Anna), but if that baby is perceived as big or small depends on a lot on who is doing the perceiving.) Most immediately, size and our perception depends a lot on the baby's mom; an eight-pound baby is huge for a very petite woman to deliver but not so noteworthy for a mom who's 6'1". Once baby is out in the world, I know that "big" still operates on a sliding scale calibrated by past experience. In the interest of clarity on my blog, though, I would like to assert some objective standards for "big."
Most specifically, when I say "big," I mean HUGE. I mean a baby who is off the charts, whose plotted height and weight float like a constellation above the smooth curve of normal babies. These babies interest me because they experience the dilemmas and joys of abnormal size most acutely. Of course, I also favor these babies because their experience mirrors my own. Naturally, I am partial to these big babies because I have one. Before any moms get their prefolds in a bunch, I am in no way claiming that big babies are better, only that I have a soft spot for them because I understand their journey. I feel fondly for big babies the same way I do for any little boy close to my son's age, or a child with blue eyes or dimples; it is because they remind me of my precious little one.
In a broader sense, I think many of the "truisms" I relate here are true for any larger-than-average baby. Anytime you start skidding down the far slope of the bell curve, you will experience what life is like outside the majority. A 70th percentile baby may not run up against all of the issues I discuss here, but certainly some of them will be familiar. Any time I can shed some light on what seems like a frustrating or exclusionary childhood experience ("What do you mean I can't play on the playplace?" Oh my heavens, someone needs to pay for my therapy), I'm happy to have offered some advice or at least the solace of camaraderie: you are big, but you are not big and alone.
The one thing I do not mean by "big" is "overweight" or "obese." I know that childhood obesity is a growing and troubling problem in our country, and while I feel for those families struggling with it, I am afraid I can't offer much help. The sort of embarrassment and teasing that accompanies being taller than average is worlds different from the harassment and bullying that overweight children endure. I have no experience in the latter arena and the issue is serious enough that I'm not even sure I'd feel comfortable dealing with it. Obesity is life-threatening and requires medical intervention. Being tall or off-the-charts is not a health problem. It is not fixable (nor should it be) and therefore children must learn to cope with and accept it. Also, being "big" in the sense of tall and strong has decided advantages, a light-at-the-end of the tunnel promise that kids being teased for their weight can't hold on to for reassurance.
I suppose I have to take issue with my own choice of terminology. Growing up, I hated being called "big." I felt it was a euphemism for "fat." In fact, as a mid-elementary school student, I thought that I had been overly chubby as a toddler and preschooler because everyone commented on how "big" I was. Imagine my surprise and confusion when a careful perusal of pictures of me romping in the pool at age four revealed that I was actually slim and trim. What on earth had those people been talking about? Even in high school, when adults would comment, "Oh, you're a big girl," I would usually hasten to correct them. "You mean tall?" I would suggest.
I knew "tall" didn't cover it; tall refers to height, and as we all know from observing the many sizes and shapes of people around us, some tall people are willowy or gangly and others are sturdily built, strapping, solid without being "fat" or overweight. In other words, they are. . .big. Even though I chafed at the term, I have to confess that I don't have a better one to describe those people simply built on a different scale. My son isn't just tall. He's big. When he stands beside other children his age, yes, he stands a head or more above them, but he's also broader across the shoulders, thicker through the chest, and sturdier in his arms and legs. He looks as though he rolled off the Nordic baby factory's conveyor belt, assembled to specs vastly different from those used in other locales. (Is the Nordic baby factory. . .Ikea?)
So larger-than-average babies, I call you big. Wear the mantle proudly (though it's likely too small) and get used to it: "big" will be the first word out of many people's mouths when they meet you. The world was not made to accomodate your size, but you also have some decided advantages. My sister often bemoans the world is not built for left-handed people and big babies can identify; the world wasn't made for them either. But I discovered early on that doing and being what people expected was dull and unfulfilling. Being big is unexpected and sets you on the path for doing different, unexpected, exciting, and interesting things.
All while wearing pants that are too short.
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