In the early days of my daughter’s life, I became fixated on the scale. Every few days, I would take her to the pediatrician, holding my breath as the nurse weighed my squirming baby. I would shut my eyes and pray for even the slightest weight gain, but my daughter’s numbers remained stagnant. I would leave the office feeling embarrassed, overwhelmed, and desperate as her wails echoed my own silent cries.
Our pediatrician would reassure us, and together we would devise a new strategy: nurse every two hours, pump, and supplement. I accepted this increasingly complex routine, sacrificing my sanity in the process. Each trip to the scale felt like a countdown to disappointment, as I hoped for even the smallest increase in her weight. More often than not, my hopes were dashed.
Having a baby who struggled to gain weight was an unexpected challenge. During my pregnancy, I had skipped buying newborn clothes, assuming my baby would be larger, much like I had been at birth. I had always been the smallest baby in my family, so the thought of tiny clothes had never crossed my mind.
Before I became a parent, I had made peace with the scale’s stubbornness. Despite eating well and exercising, the numbers rarely budged. I learned to gauge my health through different measures: my endurance, strength, and overall vitality. Yet, seeing my 7-pound daughter struggle brought back familiar feelings of inadequacy.
Each weigh-in brought back memories of my personal battles with weight. In my quest for a smaller number, I had tried every fad diet and workout regimen, often prioritizing the scale over more meaningful aspects of life. My obsession led me to boot camps that took time away from family; for my daughter, it meant long hours of nursing and pumping instead of enjoying those precious early moments.
Despite my zealous efforts to provide extra calories — skimming fat off my pumped milk — disappointment was a constant companion. “Is she reaching her milestones?” asked my lactation consultant. As if on cue, my daughter lifted her head and cooed, showing no signs of developmental delays despite her slow weight gain.
“Are there plenty of wet diapers?” she probed. I nodded, and then she asked, “So why the fixation on the scale?” It was a question that cut through my anxiety. I had managed to release my own fixation on those numbers but struggled to do the same for my child.
A wise friend reminded me, “Someone has to occupy the lower percentiles.” This simple observation shifted my perspective. Just as there are those at the top of the charts, there are also those who sit at the bottom. Bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and we can’t alter what nature has intended.
Ultimately, despite the numbers on the scale, my daughter was thriving emotionally and physically. And I realized that I am too.
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Summary
My daughter’s struggle with weight gain taught me to shift my focus from the scale to her overall well-being. Despite my initial obsession, I learned that health comes in many forms and that every child progresses at their own pace.