For whatever reason, moms want fat babies. Is it pride? Like, “Hey look! Not only am I keeping her alive, I’m keeping her FAT.” Moms want to chew on fat thighs, talk about baby kankles, and brag about what percentile their baby is in. Well . . . that is when they are in a high percentile.
That is not the case with my baby. She is a solid six. That is she is solidly in the sixth percentile. Sometimes while trying to feed her solids that she is literally throwing back at me I will yell, “COME ON SIX!” My other babies were giants. Born over eight pounds, they stayed above the 50th percentile in both weight and height until they were over a year old. But Piper . . . she’s just a tiny little peanut. It makes me mad.
When people ask me how old she is, and I tell them nine months, they look at me with stunned shock. They say, “But she’s so tiny!!” And then they tell me about their niece/granddaughter/cousin/neighbor/kid they picked up off the street and how they are the exact same age but so much bigger! And then I scream at them in the middle of the grocery store, “I SWEAR I’M FEEDING HER, SO LEAVE ME ALONE YOU JERK!” Okay, I don’t really. It’s all kind of silly you know. I mean, the growth chart is based on some decedents of vikings. (Note: Do not come to Wine & Glue for historical facts.) And my little girl is not a decendent of vikings. She is a descendent of a small but very spunky Italian woman who I’m pretty sure never made it past 5 feet or 100 pounds. So maybe next time in the grocery store I should just yell, “SHE’S A TINY ITALIAN! BACK OFF!” I guess I am a little spunky too.
Maybe Piper just needs some of this Thin Mint Frosting. That will plump her out, right? (I’m kidding. I feel the need to clarify that I’m kidding.) This frosting is kind of insane. I mean, it totally tastes like thin mints. I am a big fan of just eating my frosting with a spoon, though I suppose this would be great on a chocolate cupcake or sandwiched between two thin mints. YUMMY.
