The health visitor was so surprised with the reading that she made me lift up the baby whilst she re-set the scales. He'd gained 2lb in 2 weeks and now weighed 13lb 08.5oz.
"You're having no trouble with your feeding then," she said with a chuckle, forgetting our earlier conversation about raw, cracked nipples.
"He's having no trouble" I said.
She marked his weight at the very top of the rainbow growth curve and informed me that he's now in the 99.6th percentile for his age. I smiled as I tried to force his head back through the hole in the vest-top that's already too small, because I didn't know what else to do.
It shouldn't bother me that my 4-week-old baby weighs the same as the 5-month-old baby sitting next to him, but for some reason it does.
Maybe it's because I'm worried that he'll always be defined by his 'bigness'; maybe it's because earlier today a stranger ignored him completely whilst cooing over the 'little baby' of exactly the same age; maybe it's because it feels as though his babyhood is slipping away that little bit quicker than it should...