Lies

You know that time, that I wrote an entire post that I was going to stop worrying about Brady's weight issues?  Oh, how naive I was back then. Back then being a few weeks ago.  I've turned out to be a big fat liar.  I actually have cut down my worrying by a lot.  It no longer consumes me, it no longer keeps me awake at night.  However, sometimes once, sometimes a few times every day, when I happen to catch a glimpse of Brady's bones protruding out or when I can't keep pants around his waist that fit his brother when he was 8 months younger than he is now, I let the worry creep back in.  I don't let it stay there long.  This is the "new" me after all.  But it still is there.  
One of my BIGGEST pet peeves over the last few years has been when someone, a complete stranger, at the store or at the park or anywhere, asks how old Brady is and I give whatever the correct answer at that time is and their reply is, "Oh, he was a preemie."  Not a question (although sometimes in a question form).  More a fact.  And actually no he wasn't and actually he weighed a whopping 8 lbs 3 oz when he was born.  But it is a knife in my heart every time someone says it to me.  And it hurts and the worry that I always try to keep at bay comes up to the surface.  And to be honest I haven't had someone say it to me in a few months, so it completely caught me off guard today when someone said it to me at the park.  But what is crazy about it? It wasn't an adult.  I kid you not...it was a kid that said it.  An eight year old kid, when finding out he was two, said, "Oh, so he was born early." (and went on to say his cousin was born weighing just over two pounds.) Really eight year old?!  Knife to the heart, to my gut.  I was not prepared.  And now the worry is sitting at the surface consuming my thoughts.  Ugh.  Kids these days...