We took Isabella to her six month appointment on Friday. She is such a little peanut, so I was pretty curious to find out what she would weigh for this check up. She weighed in at 10 pounds, 15 ounces. For some reason, I had it in my head that she was 9 pounds, 4 ounces at the last appointment, but apparently that was the appointment prior to the last one. She weighed 11 pounds and a few ounces at the 4 month appointment, so she lost a few ounces. I was very surprised, but the doctor was not worried about it. She grew an inch in length and gained an inch in head circumference and is meeting all her milestones. By all those standards and by all appearances, she's a healthy little girl. She is as strong as can be; I can't believe how hard she can grab the toys on her Exersaucer, and she pulls my hair very well.
We scheduled a weight check in a month. She has yet to hit her 6-month growth spurt, so I imagine that will come sometime in the next few weeks. She has also been very distracted during nursing over the past few weeks (or more). Especially if I'm trying to do anything else at the same time; she is much more interested in what I'm doing than in eating. So I started taking her into her room and keeping distractions to a minimum.
So that's it.
As I thought about it after leaving the doctor's office and running some errands with her, it really upset me. I felt like a bad mother.
How could I not know that she didn't gain any weight?
Is it my fault? Is it because I started Weight Watchers?
Is there something wrong with my breastmilk?
And the eternal question...why would God put me through this? She's been doing fine, she seems just fine, and now all of a sudden I'm insanely worried about her and feeling like a terrible, horrible, unfit mother.
I really, really didn't want to tell anyone. I figured I could ignore it, but I knew that those who know me and know we went to the doctor would ask. So I decided to be tough and act like it's all fine.
Then I saw Melanie. And I knew she would understand. She would not judge me or think less of me.
So I cried.
Then I felt better.
What I now realize is this: God loves Isabella. He loves her more than I do, and He gave her to me and Matt to raise and nurture. I have done my best with her, and she has done great for her first six months. She has always been small, and she will grow at her own pace. All I can do is to take care of her the best I know how and trust God to do the rest.
She belongs to Him, after all.
I knew this all along. I just let the worries and disappointment push it out of my mind this weekend. But I'm better today. And as long as I keep that in mind, we will all be just fine.