Just call me bruiser

It was no great surprise to see Lola tip the scales at her two-month weigh-in. We’d had to bump her clothes up a few sizes after her onesies started making her look like a tasty little sausage. Stripped down to her bright orange Bonds singlet and a nappy, we put her on on the scales and the digital numbers ticked up to … drumroll please … 5kg. Then the length measure – 59cm.

So basically she’s grown a kilo and 5cm per month. Way to go girl.


Poor bubba had a trauma after weigh-in though, as it was time for her first vaccines. One jab in each chubby leg. She really howled (of course) and I confess I hid behind the doctor while he did it, and Rufus looked over her. When she woke up that morning all smiley and delighted to be awake I felt terrible knowing we were going to take her off for a needle. And I really second-guessed myself about whether we had to give her a needle at all – maybe something terrible would happen? – but in the end I believe it is best for her, and for the community in general. I have an uncle who suffered polio as a child and is now living with post-polio syndrome, and a friend of my cousin’s recently lost her baby to whooping cough – the thought of them put some steel in my backbone.

Anyway for anyone else about to take their baby off for shots, Lola coped better than I expected. She calmed down fairly quickly when I swooped in to comfort her, although the look of betrayal on her little face was awful. Then she slept. And slept. I hovered over her feeling her forehead, ready to whip out the thermometer, but she didn’t develop a fever. When she finally woke up she howled so we gave her her first dose of baby panadol. Then I parked her on my chest, skin-to-skin, to sleep, where she stayed for a good few hours. The next day she was back to her smiley self. Phew. 


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