Yep, Eric and I have really out done ourselves this time. She’s not even born yet and she’s above average. I see all A’s in school. I see a highly expensive Ivy League education in our future. Who knows, maybe she’ll win the Nobel Peace Prize.
But I think I’m getting ahead of myself. You might be wondering – how do they know their baby’s so wonderful already? Besides having Eric and I as parents? The story starts a few months ago...
Roughly half way through my pregnancy, the doctor started commenting on how I was ‘measuring big’. Already terrified of giving birth, I had to know what she meant. Your belly measurements, she said, should match how many weeks along you are. Your measurement is about +2. Nothing to be alarmed about, she said, don’t worry.
Well, every month I heard the same thing from her – you’re measuring big. Well, yes, I was a pretty big baby at 8 pounds 14 ounces; Eric was decent sized too at 8 pounds 2 ounces. So as I got larger, I started to prepare myself to give birth to a Guinness World Record sized baby. Actually, I’ve been trying my hardest not to think about it because, really? Who in their right mind would be looking forward to that?
So yesterday, we went for a third trimester ultrasound so the doctor could get an idea of the baby’s size. We were excited because at previous ultrasounds, we got some really fun pictures of the baby and we really wanted to get another good look at her before she was born. Since she’s basically out of room in there, and was facing my back, we couldn’t really see her face or anything (though we did get a good look up her nose).
I lay there, my stomach covered in that gross gel while the technician takes all her measurements. Let’s just say that Baby Fagan does not like to get poked by the ultrasound machine – she gave it some good kicks back. Maybe she’ll be a feisty one?
At the end, she looks at the measurements and says ‘Now, an average size baby is considered to be the 50th percentile. Your baby is measuring in the 96th percentile.’ Of course, Eric and I start laughing because we’re expecting this. ‘What does the 96th percentile mean?’ ‘Oh, well, your baby is above average’. Oh yeah, above average already!
The technician then goes on to say that they are estimating her current weight at 7 pounds 14 ounces plus or minus 1 pound. (Disclaimer: I know these are all estimates and that they can be way off. They can’t actually weigh the baby right now.) I’m really hoping that they are over-estimating it at this point. According to them, Baby Fagan could be anywhere from 7-9 pounds AT THIS POINT. Babies gain about ½ pound a week during this last month. I'm praying for an early delivery because I really don't want to have the possibility of going over that 10 pound mark.
We’ve been laughing about how nice and polite they were trying to be in saying our baby is above average. As if saying it nicely makes it better. I’m not really letting it sink in that I could be giving birth to a very good sized baby. I know it’s physically possible. I know it’s probably not as bad as I’m thinking it will be. At least I know she’s healthy and she’ll probably be one of those cute little chubby babies with 3 rolls of fat on her legs.
We both think she’ll be joining us before her due date. I think she’ll be a week early but that I’ll end up going into labor. Eric thinks she’ll be early but that we’ll be induced. Submit your guess on when she'll arrive on the poll.
Either way, we’ll be brand-new parents sometime in the next few weeks. Scary but exciting all at the same time. And hey – she’s above average; maybe she’ll support her parents in their old age…
