As
a means for measuring your tiny little nugget around something supposedly
universal, someone somewhere decided to compare fetuses to fruits and veggies. When
said fetus is quite small, it’s an adorable concept. “Awww, baby’s a poppy seed
this week.” “Say hello to my little pine nut.” “Oh my gosh, I’m growing my own
pomegranate seed.” Case in point: one of my dear friends first heard this idea when
she was carrying her then-blueberry-sized poppet, and Blue became baby’s
nickname until she came out. Now her name is Violet. How stinking cute is that?
Here’s
the rub.
As
fetuses get bigger and more distinct, so too must their comparative foods.
And
while a floating blueberry is a charming image, a floating head of cauliflower is
not.
Then there’s the shameful notion that I just don’t know my fruits and veggies
well, which makes a lot of these comparisons a moot and meaningless point. But
the person responsible for these assignments doesn’t seem to either – I’m
pretty sure around month five I went from an ear of corn to a navel orange to an
artichoke. What now? How is that helpful? Or linear?
Adding
to the confusion is mamas-to-be like me who are signed up for about 76
different sources of information. What to
Expect, that classic book-turned-iPad app, seems to be the original fruit
source. Then things like The Bump come along and want to differentiate
themselves. So baby on one site is a passion fruit, and on another he’s a scallion.
Again, not helpful.
Last
week, my baby was a rutabaga.
I
have no visual for that. I have no idea what that is… except for a drinking
game.
Yep,
in my mind, last week my baby was named after a drinking game we used to play
in college called, obviously, “Rutabaga, Rutabaga.” I don’t remember much of
the specifics – which means it must’ve been a pretty good drinking game – I just
remember that everyone in the circle had to go around and say a fruit/vegetable
twice, without showing their teeth. Seriously. I think it must’ve been that
whoever laughed first had to drink. I also spent the whole week walking around
with my lips tucked in mumbling, “cumquat, cumquat” and “asparagus,
asparagus.”
And
that’s a little glimpse into the kinds of wisdom my baby eggplant can look forward to learning
from his mama.
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