I haven't written about Frances's size much recently; ironically, that's because it's more of an issue than it used to be. Frances is known by everyone at her school, in every grade, because she is small. As we walk down the hallway I hear older kids say behind her, "Frances is so cute. She's so tiny." And older kids and even bigger kids in her s/k class will give her a big grin and reach out a hand to ruffle her hair or tell her how adorable she is, as if she were the class gerbil instead of a fellow student, and it drives me nuts but Frances says she likes it, and maybe right now she does. In any case, her size is becoming known to her and known to her peers and relevant to her relationships in a way it wasn't before, and so it's becoming less my story and more hers, and I don't want to write about what it means or why.
Maybe one day she'll start her own blog and write about this stuff. Or maybe she'll consider it completely unimportant.
In any case, today we went shopping for new winter boots because the size sixes were too small. We ended up taking home size eights, and a bundle of socks size 4T. Her jeans and shirts now are size 3T. And while she's still way below the 1st centile line on a standard growth chart, I wasn't expecting her to be this big yet. I expected that, when she was five and starting kindergarten, she would be wearing size 2T or 24 months.
It's complicated to think about, let alone write about. She would be equally valuable, equally loveable, no matter what size of clothing she wears. But she's growing a little bit faster than the experts thought she would, which means an easier time buying a bike and learning to drive and finding clothes when she's older.
I may be the only mother I know who celebrates when her daughter outgrows a size.