In my husband's defense, all of our other children are small. Jaylond recently turned 13...and has not yet hit 70lbs. Marissa is one of the shortest girls in her grade, and has a slender frame. My almost 3-year-old has just grown into her 24-month clothes. Even Connor has a long, slender frame with long, slender fingers and toes.
Owen, however, is the one child that took after my side of the family...short, stocky...and round. He has little rolls on his legs. He has cute little chipmunk cheeks...and pudgy little hands and feet. He has been a bit fussy lately, but I attribute it to teething...my go-to excuse for most baby fussiness.
Bruce usually ends up with the task of entertaining and feeding Connor for the evening. I'm not sure why, other than Connor not only puts up with, but actually loves Bruce's crazy loud bouncy forms of entertainment. Owen is more sensitive...so he is usually with me. The other night, however, Bruce took over feeding Owen when he arrived home. He held him and looked at him critically.
"I don't think Owen is feeling well."
I look up at him and ask why.
"Well...he's kind of fussy...but look at his hands...do they look...swollen to you? I think he's swollen!" He examines our son's hands and notes, again, the size of them.
"Um...honey....Owen just has fat hands. And feet. He's...rounder than our other son." I am trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.
"Oh."
Poor Owen. Man...no wonder I feel so huge in this family.
Perhaps I'm just swollen...everywhere...
Maybe you caught the "sick" bug from me!!! ; )
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