Baby’s a Pumpkin, Mom’s a Manatee

So there’s this thing in pregnancy where people like to use fruits and vegetables to give an approximate comparison for the baby’s gestational size. Some of the fruits/veggies are totally normal, meaning you can find them in an actual grocery store, but others are weird and exotic.

For example, at Week 33, the baby is the approximate size of a durian fruit (I know, spell check doesn’t even recognize it). What the eff is that? It sounds like something I would order if I were with Harry Potter at The Leaky Cauldron: “I would like a pint of Butter Beer, a Golden Snitch Cake, and a Durian Fruit, please.” “Thanks, Hagrid. Next round’s on me.”

Are there not enough fruits and veggies at Sprouts to use ones we don’t have to Google? Although you would lose the cutesie factor that comes with calling your baby a poppyseed, common household objects would be much more helpful as a means of analogy. Plus, it would eliminate the whole “I’m eating my mango baby for breakfast” ordeal. That makes for an awkward meal. For example, instead of a papaya, at Week 22: Baby is a can of Pledge!” or “Week 33: Baby is the size of your cankles after walking around the block!”

Knocked up ladies across America love to compare their babies to produce. They will make these cute chalkboards with swirly writing that say things like “Week 23: Baby is a mango!” or “Week 37: Baby is a winter melon! (again, what the heck is that).” They take pictures, hand on belly pose, holding these little signs and post them on Facebook so that everyone can track their increasing fatness. All well and good, but would it not be much more entertaining/useful to see preggo ladies holding up signs that say things like “Week 37: Baby is the size of a bottle of Merlot!” Then you could look down at your bottle of Merlot and contemplate it being wedged in your belly. Cheers to that.

Well, at 38 1/2 weeks pregnant, our baby is the size of a pumpkin, and I’m venturing a guess we have one

This is not me… I promise.

of those big pumpkins from the state fair, not the kind in the five dollar boxes outside Walmart on October 30th.

So that got me thinking: they use these adorable little measurements for the baby, but there’s nothing to help moms figure out to what their weekly growth should be comparable. I think that needs to change. Here’s what I’m thinking: most women start to show sometime around 12-15 weeks (if you are one of those biatches who didn’t show until you were 37 weeks pregnant at which point you sneezed dramatically and out popped your six pound baby, save it. We don’t want to hear about you and your three pounds of weight gain).

At around the 12 week mark, baby is the size of a lime. How cute. Reminds me of the time I used to be able to snuggle up with a Corona. Mom, meanwhile, at 12 weeks is about the size of a kangaroo: starting to get that little pouchy pooch, but still all cute-and-cuddly-pregnant. At Week 20, when overnight your clothes get tighter than the thong of a streetwalker in Amsterdam, you are the approximate size of a baby seal. Week 32: Giant Panda. Week 36: Polar bear hibernating for winter. At Week 38, I’m a cranky manatee.

This scale would bring so much relief to the suffering of poor, swollen pregnant women everywhere. You too could make cute signs announcing your growth, week by week. Perhaps you could take a monthly trip to the zoo to be amongst your weekly spirit animals and feel the kindred connection of your waistlines. Or at least it would be a nice dose of reality at a time when the world is inundating you with images of smiling pregnant women who actually do their hair and put on mascara. Or pregnant women who are out for a casual jog in the mid-afternoon wearing spandex. Or pregnant women eating salad without a pound of garlic croutons and ranch, then staying up past 9pm to hang out with their girlfriends. Seriously people, get it together. These images are not helping anyone. I like to consider it a good day if I take a shower and make it outside to get the mail.

The end of pregnancy is pretty rough. For all the advances we have made in science and health, why can we not figure out a way to speed this process up a bit? It would be awesome if you could tell your baby was fully cooked the same way you hard boil eggs. If I spin around on the ground and wobble, fair enough, baby needs a bit more baking. But once I get that nice tight spin, boom! It’s time to meet my baby. I hope you are now envisioning pregnant women break-dancing to see if they are ready or not for labor, hard boiled egg style. Hang in there, pregnant people! Ready your loins, the end is in sight (supposedly).

When you feel the baby move, it will feel like a unicorn farting into a pool of rainbows, and other lies

As I’m rounding the halfway mark of my pregnancy, I am being inundated by emails from Belly-Bumpy-Pregnancy-Tracker-Whoosie-Whatsies galore about feeling the baby move and the sensation I can expect on the receiving end. These sites and forums all promised me one of the following sensational (in the literal sense) options:

1. It feels like bubbles popping

2. It feels like a goldfish swimming around

3. It feels like butterflies

CORRECTION: It feels like a mini-human is inside my stomach punching me. Sometimes it feels like that mini-human has put on snowshoes and decided to forage around in my intestines searching for gold. But in no way does it feel like a goldfish. Or a butterfly. Or a bubble. Who makes this stuff up? This is the weirdest thing: it feels exactly like what you would expect it to feel like, so why all the weird analogies? How many of us have felt a goldfish swimming around in our stomach for that to be an accurate analogy anyway? Well there was that one time… but alas, I digress.

On a more nurturing note, it is like the coolest feeling in the world. That little mango moves All. The. Time. and it makes me oh-so-happy to know my baby is wriggling away the days safe and sound. But each time I get an email telling me I am going to feel a goldfish holding hands with a butterfly inside a bursting bubble, I have to laugh to myself.

On a fun note, we find out the gender in two weeks! I’m hoping it’s a dragon.