IBM: The Sequel.
Look. I know you’ve got a job to do. I know that part of that job is to weigh and measure and plot the growth of babies. I get that that leads to data that gets checked against averages and that the lack of growth can be a sign of a potential problem. I understand that and I respect that, because maybe somebody has a kid thatÂ doesÂ have some sort of illness and if you catch that then they can get help and be well and that’s great!
But ladies. (and I say ladies because I’ve personally never come across a male health nurse here in Edmonton, but I’m sure they exist, so don’t let that stop you, boys! Be nurses if you want to! You go boy! But this is directed toward those that I’ve come across.)
Ladies. When you say “Hmmm, looks like he started up here and now he’s dropped down to herrrre” and I respond “Yeah, I know. My three daughters all did the same thing.”
“Our pediatrician is monitoring him and isn’t concerned about his size.”Â “Can he sit up unassisted? Well, yeah, he can sit, but he really doesn’t because he’s on the verge of crawling and spends the majority of his time scooting from one place to another.”
“What foods is he eating? He’s eating everything. Yeah, including meats. Anything we’re eating, he’s eating. Except honey, of course. And he nurses like a thousand times a day.”Â “My husband? He’s 5’8″. I’m 5’1”. (insert standard joke about not having basketball players)”
“Yeah. I know he has to still be rear-facing. She (point to Bianca, my positively huge 25%er)Â is actually still rear-facing, our seats have crazy high limits. Yes. I know. 22lbs. I know. My other daughter didn’t get turned around until she was 4. I get it. Did you miss the part 6 seconds ago where I told you my nearly-three year old is still rear facing?”
Ladies. I appreciate the concern. I really do. You have to make sure I’m not neglectful, that I’ve got all the information, that my child is thriving.
But seriously. How many times must we go through this whole thing before I can convince you? I’ve got this.
He can just co-opt my dad’s nickname. Not for nothing was my dad known as Itty Bitty Mike.