It's a well-known fact that bigger babies do better with cystic fibrosis as adults, for whatever reason. The bigger the baby, the healthier the adult. So I know in my head that it's such a fantastic thing for Rosalind's cheeks to feel the effects of gravity, for her stretches to bring her ever closer to the confines of her bassinet, and for the numbers on the scale to continually climb. But in my heart, I want her to stay my tiny baby forever.
Before the cystic fibrosis diagnosis (what a fun rhyme is that!) came, she was gaining weight by a few meager ounces every month. At six weeks, she was in the fifth percentile for growth. As an 8lb 7oz baby that grew into an adult and married someone who had been 9lb 8oz at birth, this was baffling. But now I feel like, with the help of her enzymes, Rosie's body is catching up to where it should have been all along.
Course, that doesn't stop my irrational heart from wanting her to stay my tiny sweetheart from just a little longer. Hearts are totally unreasonable.
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