There are certain things you store in your head, when you become a mum, aren’t there? Your child’s first word, the memory of that first time they laughed, how much they weighed when they were born…
Oh crap. What did my daughter weigh when she was born?
Yes, folks, my Bad Mums’ Club confession this month is that I have no idea what my child’s birth weight was. I can see you shaking your head in disbelief and rolling your eyes at how this could even be possible. The thing is, I definitely used to know her birth weight. It once roll off my tongue in a split second. I’d be sitting around with my NCT friends, small-baby-and-muslin on shoulder, discussing the colour of poo and what it means (sample chat: “Is bright yellow bad?”… “Oh it could be because he had his jabs this week…?”) and someone would casually ask what my daughter weighed at birth, and I’d just tell them.
But somewhere along the way, in amongst information about weaning and puree, Jumperoos and Mini Micro Scooters going IN to my brain, my daughter’s birth weight fell OUT of my brain.
Does this actually make me a bad mum, though? Do I need to know her birth weight? After all, I can look back at her birth and I know (despite my foggy Pethadine-induced haze) that I had to push an actual baby out of my vagina. I pushed a lot. Pushing her up and out was without a doubt the most mindbendingly surreal thing I have ever experienced – do I need to know the actual weight of the human I ejected from my body?
There’s something about your child’s birth weight, though, that seems IMPORTANT. Part of me feels like I’m admitting to not remembering when her birthday is (which PS I do know).
But I remember other things that, personally, I think are more important. Like the first time we sat and drew together and the first time she had her face painted (she was Spider-Man). I remember the moment I realised she is a genuinely funny person with the skill to make people laugh. I remember the first thunder storm she didn’t get scared by, standing by the open back door watching the rain and lightning. I remember the first time she recited the whole alphabet (me: “It’s zed, not zee!”) and when she counted all the way to 30.
And anyway, if I really want to know her birth weight, I can just look in her red NHS book, right? Oh hang on, I lost that…
- This post is part of the Bad Mums’ Club – a series of posts by bloggers on our ‘failings’ as mums. Of course, we know we’re not really bad parents, but sometimes it’s good for the soul to confess a little and share the not-so-perfect side of parenting. If you’re a blogger and have a post like this, link it up below and we’ll come read your post. If you’re not a blogger, you can access all of this month’s Bad Mums’ Club posts below and have a nice little read. Don’t forget to visit Morgana, Aimee and Katie to read their Bad Mums’ Club posts!
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