Existence Defined By Weeks. What Is That?

I am now 20 weeks along in my pregnancy.  I am only aware of this number because it was displayed on the screen at my last ultrasound, 19w5d. For those like me that don’t do math off the top of your head, that’s 5 months. I definitely told someone the other day that it was 4 months. It was later that night after having counted the weeks on my fingers that I realized I completely made that answer up.  I was tempted to email them and correct myself in the case that they noticed the week to month discrepancy in my calculations but decided to fly under the radar hoping for the slight chance they didn’t.

How did the beginning of life existence being defined by weeks even come about? I’m not a fan of this tactic for two reasons.

One. The only time it seems normal to reference a fetus or child’s age in weeks is when they actually are only weeks old. 2 weeks, 3 weeks. 4 weeks? Nope, now she’s a month.

Random person: “My kid is 28 weeks old.”

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.   

Two. It’s just embarrassing for the mom when they understandably cant keep track of their child’s age in weeks.  Amidst the chaos of having a new baby the weeks and months just start flying by with no recollection that this is even happening. Day turns to night, night to day.  What’s the difference. You haven’t slept. Ironically, the most popular question during this time is, “How many weeks old now!?”

When Presley was an infant and I felt the pressure to keep up with this weeks old game. I would spend time doing daily morning math, “OK, she was born on September 23… what’s today’s date…”, in order to stay on top of this challenge.  This whole process was getting a little traumatizing.  “I’m the worst mom ever! I don’t even know how long I have had this small child!”  

At about three weeks old, Presley and I began to attend a weekly mothers group to, you know, learn how to take care of an infant.  A bunch of new, postpartum moms, sweat pants, teary eyes, gathered in a room and sat in a a circle with our new foreign babies.

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.” 

At some point this week deal turns into months. I’m vague as to when this officially happens. As for now my kid is 2 1/2 years old and I am 5 months into my pregnancy. Wouldn’t it make more sense to start saying your age in months at say about 40 years old? This age and on is when it would be totally acceptable to be abstract about your age.  Next December I will be turning 372 months old.  Yeah, this is going to stick.  I’m gonna start early.  If you were even able to figure that out off the top of your head…