I know this issue takes up most of your days. I hear you discussing it with your friends, this desperate desire to lose weight since having me. I get it; I probably am somewhat responsible for those extra few pounds you see on the scales. I’m more than prepared for the fact that red and green will probably be my first words, seeing as they seem to dominate so many of your days ever since joining that diet. But here’s the thing – I am literally a few months old – how much I weigh is so low down on my list of priorities right now I simply cannot understand why you insist on taking me so often.

There are several issues at play here. First and foremost is the fact that the reason you obsess over my weight is completely counter to your own concerns – so it’s far from ok for you to pile on the pounds but I’m expected to get fat? Talk about sending mixed signals. And you wonder why I haven’t always gained as much as I should have (according to a universal curve that we’re all supposed to fit on perfectly, anyway). And that’s before taking my diet into consideration – you have the luxury of red and green days, I have the monotony of white days. There’s a limit to how excited I can get.

Secondly, that room is so bloody hot. I know it’s because you have to strip me naked and so your intentions to keep me nice and toasty are pure, but I still arrive fully clothed complete with coats, hats and blankets, from the bitter cold of winter. Alternating my temperature between such extremes is hardly good for my health. The fact is, I do not appreciate my naked body being judged by every other baby in there – babies that will probably become future friends, boyfriends, husbands – or even girlfriends and wives (hey, some of the boys get insecure about their newly-formed bodies, too). Throwing in the temperature extremes just makes the whole thing that more difficult.

Which really brings me on to the third and final issue of this blog, the crux of the whole argument. If these are, as previously mentioned, our future husbands/wives that you’re publicly shaming us in front of – not only by revealing us in our birthday suits but by having our weight announced for all and sundry to hear – how on earth do you expect us to recover from the utter humiliation of the whole activity? Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a baby how much they weigh?  I’ve seen the sideways smirks, frowns and genuine revulsion from other babies there who have done better than us.

By all means, live your life obsessing over the scales, but don’t make me do the same.  If I’m eating, pooing and generally contented, I’m probably alright. But for the sake of my future happiness, please, stop taking me to the hall of shame.


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