Today was Asher's two month doctor's appointment. Meg and I have commented with increasing frequency about his rapidly increasing size. It feels unlikely that at one point we worried that, as the nurses suggested, we might have to supplement his feeding. With what I don't know. Steakums maybe?
When Meg was still pregnant, I'd joke about our baby's probable birth weight. Nine or 10 pounds sounded perfectly reasonable to me, and I had very little experience with gauging the relationship between an expectant mother's giant belly and the size of the baby within. If I'd been a little less conscious of Meg's feelings, I might have even suggested a much higher number. Is 13 pounds reasonable? Why are you crying?
Now, of course, I realize how truly idiotic that question would have been. A 10 pound baby is big. Really big. I might lose or gain two pounds of water weight on a long weekend run, but a two pound shift in a toddler's total size is a no-joke kind of situation.