Plottings
It was Anna's monthly weigh-in today and she's leapt up to 6.5kg – no wonder my back is starting to hurt. She has now hit the giddy heights of the 25th percentile.
Babies are not allowed to grow these days without being measured, weighed, and plotted on graphs. It's a wonder the human species ever managed to become as prolific as it has, considering all those babies born before we invented tape measures and scales were just expected to grow ad hoc. Poor little souls, doing it all on their own like that, makes you really feel for them.
The graphs work on some sort of a standardised (standardised for where? I've never thought to ask that, and I'll be well pissed if I discover it's for America or Britain) percentile chart which plots the baby's weight, and I've got one which plots length and head circumference too, and we parents are expected to keep these charts safe and secure, and carry them around with us at all times just in case we happen to come across a doctor or health nurse or other pertinent member of society, who all need to inspect these charts. Woe betide us if we forget them, or lose them, or accidentally slop coffee on them. (And I shudder to think of the repercussions of those parents who refuse to fill them in – I know I am not brave enough to risk the wrath of Those Who Know Things by ignoring them.) These percentile ranges are another way of saying 'average growth', but they don't like to use that term because it runs the risk of making us new parents feel secure about our babies being average.
Instead, they use terms such as "in the top 90th percentile", "the 50th percentile", etc. I suppose it works for all those parents whose babies are in the top 90th, because then they can feel smug and happy that they are at least getting something right. For those of us, though, whose darling little ones are languishing about in the "bottom 10th percentile", it's a different story. We have to chant desperately "She's OK and she's alive, she's OK and she's alive, she's OK and she's alive" in the waiting rooms of the health nurse (they give you at least 10 minutes past your appointment time, just for this purpose) so that we are strong enough to withstand the doubtless well-meaning, yet contradictory comments, regarding the issue of lack of 'proper' weight gain. We have to learn to not fly immediately into anxiety attacks in the face of comments such as "she's only a wee little thing, isn't she? She' s only in the 10th percentile, that's nothing to worry about, but bring her back next week and we'll check again just in case", and we have to learn to clench our teeth and breath deeply while we ask, just in case what? And we need to continue to breath deeply while resisting the urge to scream when we are told, "nothing, dear, nothing to worry about. But bring her back anyway…"
I don't go to the health nurses anymore. I felt a bit out of control and thought it was dangerous to their health for me to keep visiting. I get Anna weighed once a month at the local chemist, and she gets her immunisations at our doctor, and if she's ever sick I'll take her there too. And I remind other mothers of "wee little things" I meet that percentile charts are just another fancy name for averages, and that as long as our babies are within the healthy average range, it doesn't matter whether they are big average or small average. And we can feel smug about the fact that our wee little things can stay in their uber cute baby outfits longer than the others, and are a lot more forgiving on our backs.
Babies are not allowed to grow these days without being measured, weighed, and plotted on graphs. It's a wonder the human species ever managed to become as prolific as it has, considering all those babies born before we invented tape measures and scales were just expected to grow ad hoc. Poor little souls, doing it all on their own like that, makes you really feel for them.
The graphs work on some sort of a standardised (standardised for where? I've never thought to ask that, and I'll be well pissed if I discover it's for America or Britain) percentile chart which plots the baby's weight, and I've got one which plots length and head circumference too, and we parents are expected to keep these charts safe and secure, and carry them around with us at all times just in case we happen to come across a doctor or health nurse or other pertinent member of society, who all need to inspect these charts. Woe betide us if we forget them, or lose them, or accidentally slop coffee on them. (And I shudder to think of the repercussions of those parents who refuse to fill them in – I know I am not brave enough to risk the wrath of Those Who Know Things by ignoring them.) These percentile ranges are another way of saying 'average growth', but they don't like to use that term because it runs the risk of making us new parents feel secure about our babies being average.
Instead, they use terms such as "in the top 90th percentile", "the 50th percentile", etc. I suppose it works for all those parents whose babies are in the top 90th, because then they can feel smug and happy that they are at least getting something right. For those of us, though, whose darling little ones are languishing about in the "bottom 10th percentile", it's a different story. We have to chant desperately "She's OK and she's alive, she's OK and she's alive, she's OK and she's alive" in the waiting rooms of the health nurse (they give you at least 10 minutes past your appointment time, just for this purpose) so that we are strong enough to withstand the doubtless well-meaning, yet contradictory comments, regarding the issue of lack of 'proper' weight gain. We have to learn to not fly immediately into anxiety attacks in the face of comments such as "she's only a wee little thing, isn't she? She' s only in the 10th percentile, that's nothing to worry about, but bring her back next week and we'll check again just in case", and we have to learn to clench our teeth and breath deeply while we ask, just in case what? And we need to continue to breath deeply while resisting the urge to scream when we are told, "nothing, dear, nothing to worry about. But bring her back anyway…"
I don't go to the health nurses anymore. I felt a bit out of control and thought it was dangerous to their health for me to keep visiting. I get Anna weighed once a month at the local chemist, and she gets her immunisations at our doctor, and if she's ever sick I'll take her there too. And I remind other mothers of "wee little things" I meet that percentile charts are just another fancy name for averages, and that as long as our babies are within the healthy average range, it doesn't matter whether they are big average or small average. And we can feel smug about the fact that our wee little things can stay in their uber cute baby outfits longer than the others, and are a lot more forgiving on our backs.
posted by Helen at 10:02 pm
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