A little slow.

At her 4-month appointment with our pediatrician, Dr. B. walked into the room and exclaimed, “Oh my, Charlotte! You look like a developmentally delayed 6-month-old!”

Sure, I could have taken this as an insult. But since I was used to big babies due to the extra-large size of babies in my family, I looked on the plus side. “Does that mean I can sneak her in the gym daycare? They have a 6-month minimum.”

Off we went the following week. When I first dropped her off, I felt like a criminal being questioned by the police. “Why do you want to know her birthday?” “Are you going to call the emergency contact? If so, what kinds of questions will you ask him?” I quickly calculated a fake birthday, making her 6 months and one day old.

“Does she sit up?” Brittany asked.

“Um, not really.” I left quickly and ran upstairs to the treadmill.

Several weeks later, as I was dropping her off, another mother stood next to me, signing her daughter in.

“Ooooh, how old is your daughter?” the mom asked.

“Ah…” I hesitated. “Six months.” I answered.

“Oh.” She paused. “So’s mine.” She squinted in the direction of our girls and forced a smile. I followed her eyes. There on the floor was her 6-month-old daughter, sitting up and stacking blocks. Next to her was Charlotte, laying in the bouncy chair and drooling on herself.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “Lucy has a big sister. I bet that’s why she’s so advanced.”

I spent the rest of my workout entertaining the notion of tracking Lucy’s mom down to set her straight. “She’s not *that* slow,” I would explain. “It’s just that I’m sneaking her into daycare early.” I decided that would just make me look like a jerk.

I decided to let Charlotte take the fall.

So, off we go, my developmentally delayed 6-month-old and I. Back to daycare for another day of lying about our age. Who knew it started so early?