Fat baby

Noah is a fat baby. We have been saying that for ages. And we're pretty sure everyone who sees him says how cute he is then tuts behind our backs at how big he is. As a friend of mine put it, he "really has stacked it on."

When he was born, Noah's weight was bang on the 50th percentile. This, for those of you not in the know, means he couldn't be more average if he tried. After a few months, whilst plotting Noah's new weight in the red baby book graph thing, we found that he had shifted gears and stepped up to the 71st percentile. This means that 70% of babies in this country who are the same age as Noah, weigh less than him. Cheryl and I exchanged a glance, shared a smile at this, and continued to feed him normally, as we always have.

Fast forward to today. Noah polished off a little bowl of mashed up spaghetti bolognese and we decided to weigh him again. 10.2kg. I went and dug out his little red book (after not looking at it for a while) and plotted his new weight. I checked it. Then checked it again.

"Cheryl?" I said. "What percentile was Noah when we last checked, can you remember?"
"Roughly 70", came the answer.
"Oh," I said. "Because now he is at 92nd percentile". There was a pause.
"Well, he's nearly the best at something already!" said Cheryl, wisely.

Noah just smiled and ate his third pudding.