For about a year after my daughter came home, whenever a stranger asked me how old she was, I tended to quote her adjusted age. Since DC was still rather small, using her adjusted age made visual sense to most people. Using her actual age, on the other hand, tended to invite more questions, which pretty much led me to mom-splain our back-story all over these polite, but not really interested, old ladies and passerbys.
There were a few times when the old lady or passerby would say, “yes, but what’s her real age?” One was a former NICU nurse, the others were grandparents of preemies.
At four months, my daughter may have been smaller than a typical newborn, but her eyes were wide open and she had this worldly-wise look about her. At one year, she had closed the developmental gap for cognitive and motor skills, but her height and weight were still tacking more closely to her adjusted age (she was still fitting comfortably into 6 month clothing). In other words, she was an impossibly small, physical dynamo…and I worried that she’d one day be conscripted into her middle school’s cheer-leading squad as a flier. Continue reading