Your kid is 7 months old. Just say it. I am not hearing anything else you say after you say 28 weeks old. I have blocked you out and my hand is behind my back trying to count how old your kid is because now it’s bothering me. I place my own child in potential danger as I shake her off my other hand in order to make five more fingers accessible so I can really get to the bottom of this arithmetic equation.
We would go in a circle and ask millions of questions. As your turn approached, you were to introduce your new baby by name and age and ask any questions you had. Each week without fail, when my turn was approaching to introduce Presley, I would break out in a small sweat. My life was a big fat tired blur and as each week went by her week old status was slipping quickly from my post pregnancy brain. My strategy? Just say something. Anything. Forgo the math equations and breaking down the months to weeks and just speak. “Hi, this is Presley, she’s um, 3 weeks old.”
Every week I lied and just stated whatever number popped in my head. She would be 7 weeks one week and the next, 6, 3, 3 again, 5… and it went on. I’m just so thankful that I called her Presley on cue, “name.”