Wednesday, October 28, 2009

This Week's Sarcasm, I Mean, Ticker: Vol. 2 No. 24

Oh, take it! Have ALL of it! I got news for you: it's called "heredity". It's called "genes". You don't have much choice. Enjoy that fat while it's called "baby fat", sweetie. Skinny is not a likely future for you. It's doubtful that you'll have those frail baby wrists and arms. Nobody will say that they feel like they could snap you like a twig. Toddler jeans that involve a button at the waist and no stretch-fabric? Yeah, you won't be in those long. Your almost-3 year old sister has HIPS already. (Slight ones, but hello! Pear is the new hourglass.) She's a solidly-built kid. No, not "solidly-built" as in the polite euphamism for "chubbster". She is muscle and bone (and attitude, lately). She is 35 pounds. That's about 85 percentile. And you can't pinch an inch on her - remember, muscle weighs more than fat. But she's not a skinny-minny.
Side story: Maddie's muscles were the stuff of amazement at CHOP way back in June of '07. Honestly, the doctor called her intern in to see the "remarkable definition in this baby's thighs!". Meanwhile overly bright Meg fell on the floor dying of worry because the doctor kept "oh my-ing" and failed to mention WHY - so naturally I thought Maddie had something akin to baby cancer. Nope. Just great legs. I'm assuming these came from Daddy's side? A reflection of the tree trunk thighs that he has been gifted with, perhaps?
Anyway, I spy a softball star in the making! So Little D, you enjoy that baby fat. Pack it on, sweetie. Besides, I need you to fit in most of your sister's clothes, and she was born 3 months earlier than you, season-wise. Stuff may run a little big otherwise.


No comments:

Related Posts with Thumbnails