Dwain Walden

I find it interesting how we first describe newborn babies — tendencies that apparently have gone on for many years.

“Rosemary had her baby this morning. It was a girl. She weighed seven pounds and14 ounces and was 19.3 inches long.”

So why is it important to be so specific about the weight and length? I see the weight and length relevance if someone just caught a large bass or maybe has grown a record cucumber. In the big picture and on average, give or take a couple of pounds or a couple of inches, they are all about the same size. It’s not like there’s a number that is unacceptable and we can send it back. And as far as I know, there’s not a record that we’re shooting for. But there is a world record. The heaviest baby yet was 28 pounds and 4 ounces. Now that’s a big young’en. That’s a 25-pound bag of flour with a half gallon of milk on top.

Noticeably, we don’t talk about how wide a newborn baby is. That description comes later.

And quite often the weight and length are part of a formal announcement upon its birth. Then it goes away until a boy appears in the football program where his playing position is posted along with his height and weight. But yet, the cheerleaders are never introduced by height and weight. I would think if it is relevant to use weight so one can imagine the potential impact of a linebacker and a running back, then why not the impact if that cheerleader pyramid should fall? Collisions in the purest sense come about in pounds per square inch, regardless of the uniform.

And the band members’ height and weight are not listed either. What if you see a skinny kid carrying a tuba? Someone is going to say, “His horn weighs more than he does.” So how much does he weigh? I dunno. The program doesn’t say.

And it’s not like you have to be a certain weight and height to get through this world. On one end of the spectrum, we have jockeys, short and thin. And on the other end, sumo wrestlers — huge guys who push each other around in a circle, wearing what appear to be diapers made from schooner sails.

And in one analysis, it’s related to economics. Think about those signs at the carnival that say, “You have to be this tall to get on this ride.” If everyone was tall, those sign makers would not have jobs.

Of course once the weight and height are established, comparisons are next. Someone is going to have produced a kid bigger than yours.

“My gosh, that kid will be shooting hoops by the time he’s three,” one might say. But there’s also the chance he may be a large pianist. A large child prodigy.

And there are dads who certainly would brag about the length of their kid.

“Yep, he takes after the old man all right,” he says as he struts about handing out cigars.

But then I got to thinking, these are the very first credentials — besides a lot of wrinkles — that we can apply to newborns. They are not yet Republicans, Democrats, Kiwanians or Rotarians. We don’t yet know if they like football or ballet. They have not yet learned to be prejudiced or to hate or to whistle. And they can’t spell acquiesce. They just have weight and length. Something else I just thought of — we refer to their length and not their height because they can’t stand up yet. So technically, a baby doesn’t have height until you hold him or her up and shake the wrinkles out.

I realize all of this deep thinking has little to do with world peace, energy resources or cellulite reduction. But I’m willing to bet that the next time you read a birth announcement that you’ll think about it.

(Dwain Walden is editor/publlisher of The Moultrie Observer, 985-4545. E-mail: dwain.walden@gaflnews.com)