A Little Too Small

On a recent trip to Louisiana, while we were waiting in line at a grocery store for some boudin and cracklins, Max caught the eye of one of the locals. He was a large man who could have probably pulled a gator from the swamp with one arm, and he remarked in his best Matthew McConaughey voice "that's a skinny baby." He proceeded to boast to us about the girth and size of his own baby boy, whom he lovingly referred to as a "hoss."

It's a conversation that we've had a number of times now, and to be fair, everyone is right. Max is in the less than 3% range in height and weight for his age (for those of you that aren't in the know ... that's small). At 16 months old, he only weighs 18 pounds; by comparison, his 12 month old cousin weighs 23 pounds. He started out small though, weighing a full pound less than his older brothers did a birth, due maybe in part to a condition I didn't know I had. 

But just because Max is small, doesn't mean he's weak. His light little frame makes it easy for him to slide past us and dart down the hall. He climbs like a little billy goat up and over any toy that can be turned into a makeshift rock wall. He never stops moving, and as a result, neither do we. 

I know he's fine; I see all of the food he puts away every day. I see the sparkle in his eye that tells me he's not lacking nutritionally. All babies grow at different rates, and only time will tell what size my little pickle will grow to be. For now, I'm happy to have him easily perch up on my arms and shoulders without breaking my back because some day I'm sure I'll be the one looking up at him.