short and sweet

We are just back from our nine-month check up...  I have to say that I will be so glad to reach the 12-month mark, if for no other reason than I hate forking over co-pays every 2-3 months so the doctor can tell me everything is fine and stick some needles in my kid's thigh, leaving me short three days worth of my precious extra hot chai lattes (yes, I am that kind of person...  I also drive a fancy station wagon, because mini-vans are Satan's coaches, with a sticker indicating where I went to college and I own a pair of $100+ jeans... but I didn't buy them, they were a gift.  Perhaps you would feel better if you thought of me as a spy in the house of suburbs...) with one screaming infant.  I also really hate needles, but that is another post altogether because today we are talking about Bean and genetics.

I believe that you are all familiar with Bean...  He, the child that looks not a whole lot like his mama, who so lovingly attends to his every waking need except between the hours of 8:30 AM and 5:30 PM Mondays - Fridays when those needs are outsourced to the lovely B. whom I pay, so that kind of counts.  He, the walking recessive gene (see my flickr badge for evidence) He, who bears a striking similarity to his daddy, in coloring, personality, and general crankiness when lacking in sufficient amounts of sleep. There are those who will claim that he shares certain characteristics of mine...

"he has your smile, sort of." (thanks, sort of)

"there is a little bit of you in his nose..." (yep, it is called a finger and this is me picking his boogers.)

"oh what a beautiful baby, such striking eyes... how long have you been his nanny." (yeah, no joke that happens A LOT. And let me tell you, I WISH I got paid to hang with this kid all day...)

I take this all in stride because, well, N. is a pretty good-looking guy.  I should be fine with Bean having less than a thimble full of visible genetic attachment to me if he looks like his dad.  I know he is mine... I have the reduced bladder control and extra 10 lbs to prove it. Plus, he loves himself some TV... just like his mama.

Today, however, there is a problem... it appears that Bean has selected the worst genetic trait that I have to offer.  Rather than take my natural tan, my thick hair, my freckles...  it appears that Bean may have pulled my short card. 

Lets be clear on something... there were a lot of reasons for me to marry N., but one of the top five was his height.  He is 6 ft 2 in tall...  I figured this would give my son more than a fighting chance of breaking through the 5 ft 9 in barrier that has long kept men in my family line from achieving true greatness.

Alas, according to the good doctor he is a little on the small side.  His exact words were "looks like he is heading in your direction, mom... but that is OK, dad might be able to pull it out in the teenage years.  I would guess he will be somewhere in the middle."

For fuck's sake... that could be anywhere from 5 ft 3 in (which is just plain sad for a guy) to 6 ft 1 in (please God, I promise to never flip off people driving 45 MPH in the left lane of the freeway again...).  Thanks for narrowing it down.

Anyway, anyone know if they make grape-flavored growth hormones?

Comments

[mabel]

That is just WRONG!! Negative flippin' pediatrician! Besides, he has loads of growing ahead of him. At least you were smart to pick a tall guy (whispering: my husband is only 5'8") I obviously wasn't looking at genetics when I went there! This was way back when I thought I would never want kids (HAhahahaha). So far I have what is a potentially short guy and one maybe throwback to my side (he is tall for 6!! Hurrah!!) and a TALL girl (did I mention I am 5'8 and 1/2". Yes, I look down on my hub when I wear heels.) Who says that the tall guys are the most successful? Our kids will set the world on fire - 5'3 OR 6'3!

[Wood]

1. Apparently all babies look like their dads. This is unfair, because after carrying them for 10 months, gaining weight and enduring strange pains, and then managing to somehow push them out in one piece, every mama deserves to look at her babe and see SOMETHING from her. But alas, life is unfair.

2. I am so over those stupid percentiles. They mean nothing.

[tpon]

Generally, the percentiles and developmental milestones have never really bothered me. And it isn't like he went from 80% to below 50%, he has always been (dare i say it) average... but for some reason this just bugged me a little.

[veedub]

Fear not. Height is of no consquence as Bean is headed straight towards a Nobel Prize in science. No one even notices the height of those who make such lofty contributions to society. I'm already pondering my dress for the requisite trip to Stockholm to watch him accept.

[Holly]

I know. My first born has always been 90% in weight and 50% in height. Short and fat. Great. He's gonna LOVE that! As a baby, he looked like the Michelin tire guy, and I'm not even kidding!

Actually, though, I am SORT of kidding, because ever since he turned about 3.5 or so, he has been sprouting, and is now quite proportional. I read somewhere that a child's height at the age of three is roughly half of their adult height. So, when calculating that, I thought my kid might actually have a chance at tallness! Which made me feel a lot better.

So, I totally feel ya!

[Holly]

P.S. You have it all wrong... minivan's, while a close second, are not in fact Satan's preferred vehicles. Satan's #1 vehicle would be the SUV. I know, because I used to drive one of those gas-guzzling SOB's. Until one day it dawned on me that driving it went against all I believed in. So, we sold it, and bought... da, da da, DA... a minivan.

Yes, a minivan. I KNOW. Don't laugh. Once I got used to all that space in an SUV, I just couldn't reduce my space to a regular car or wagon. But, you gotta give me this... I do have a peace sign sticker in the back window. And given that I live in a RED (as in redder than red) state... that is pretty rebellious of me. So you gotta give me that!

Soon, I will move back to a fancy sedan or wagon, and be the proper conservationist I know I can be.