I used to think it was ridiculous that people counted their baby’s age in months. Hearing the phrase, “she’s 19 months” always sent my brain into a minor spin, as I tried to translate that number into a “real” age in years. Little did I know that this kind of funny counting would start when I got pregnant myself. Soon I was counting everything not even in months, but in weeks. It’s society’s little joke that a pregnancy is actually about 40 weeks, not nine months as everyone says. Forty weeks is actually closer to ten months … I guess it’s lucky we don’t do this kind of math until we’re pregnant or else we might think twice about becoming pregnant!
We keep the ‘weeks’ counting up after our baby is born too. Six weeks old, ten weeks old, thirteen weeks old. I think I switched to talking about ‘months’ when the math got too hard. And eventually we conform to clothing sizes – clothing is usually counted in months until the magic number of 24. I see the point in this counting system now, now that I’m a mom and have to buy such clothes on a regular basis.
Chelsea turns seven months old today and I can’t believe how fast the time has gone. She’ll be a year – 12 months? – before we know it. But as she grows older, how long do we keep counting in months for – 24 months? 36 months? More?
Here’s an idea: maybe adults should follow a similar system when talking about our ages. Worried to tell people your real age? Tell them the number in months you are instead of years and watch their faces screw up in confusion! They won’t really know how old you are – at least not until they get home and use a calculator. (How many of us can divide easily by 12 in our heads? You see my point.)
On that note, I’m going to be 420 months soon. Try to do that math in your head. Good thing I don’t have to shop for “420-month olds” – that sounds like a pretty large size!