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Our Newborn is No Longer Newborn-Sized

When Austen was born, he was a very average newborn size—and next to me and Al, he was downright tiny. We could hold him in one arm with no trouble whatsoever. He wore Newborn size diapers and Newborn size clothes. Many of his 0-3 month sleeper suits were too big. At six days old, his head circumference was in the 10th—the 10th!—percentile, news that almost made me wish I'd been able to have a vaginal birth. His height and weight were somewhere around the 16th or 17th percentile.

At his one-month checkup (which he got at 5 weeks old), Austen had lept into the mid-30s percentilewise and was fast approaching 11 lbs. It was around this time that I remarked to Al that had the Incredible Hulk been born rather than developing as the result of an overdose of gamma radiation, Austen is probably what he would have looked like. I could swear I could see Austen's clothes shrinking and ripping as his little body expanded.

At 8 weeks—just after the big blizzard—I had to make an emergency run to the Baby Depot because Austen outgrew even the biggest of his 3-month sleeper suits, and both of the 6-month sized ones we got from nj and Morrisa were in the wash, the victims of spit-up and diaper leaks. He never even got to wear a few of the 8-11 lb. onesies his cousins made for him at our baby shower, and I think he only wore the suits his godmom bought him for New Year's a couple times each.

Over the past three weeks or so my back has started to ache so badly that it often wakes me up at night, and I began to think that perhaps Austen was expanding faster than I could build up the muscle strength with which to lift and carry him. (For those of you thinking, "lift with your knees, not your back!", I've been doing that, and now my knees hurt, too.) We knew Austen had to be at least 12 lbs. because of the way his clothes fit, but since our pediatricians' office is quite busy, he won't be weighed officially until he gets his two-month checkup... at three months. We decided to try the step-on-the-scale-alone-and-then-step-on-with-the-baby method after his bath on Sunday to get an approximate weight. Ladies and gentlemen, that scale said he weighed 15 POUNDS. Granted, this probably isn't a very accurate method, but as my friend Shannon said recently... holy crap, Batman!

Austen is 10 weeks old today, and he's now straining the Velcro tabs on his size 2 Huggies. The snaps on his 6-month suits are about to pop around the diaper area, and they already have around his neck. (Like both Al and me, Austen's torso is long for his overall height, so he still has a little room in the suit legs as long as he doesn't point his toes.) Everyone who sees him comments on how big his cheeks are, and every woman who even peeks into the stroller—complete strangers on streetcorners, I'm talking about—asks me if I'm breastfeeding.

It's starting to wig me out a little. All I can do is reassure myself that Austen's healthy, alert, and interactive. He sleeps and eats well. He poops and pees normally. And he's super cute.