Sunday, September 13, 2009

The Twisted Turnip

Did I say I was going to start posting weekly? Well, what I actually meant was monthly. Yeah, that's it, MONTHLY. I can't believe it's really been a month since I posted last. And if you count it in pregnancy years, it's been like 6 months and 50 pounds. Ridunkulous.

Well, the baby has been progressing through various stages of fruit and vegetable. I can't remember what the latest one was, but I know that within the last week or two, it was the size of a turnip. That's right folks, I said a turnip. Now if you are like me and are not Peter Rabbit or one of his perfect little, no-trouble causing siblings with a name that rhymes with -opsy, you really have no idea what a turnip is. All I know is that this one has a seriously twisted sense of humor. Supposedly, the fetal development has not yet extended to the practical joke playing portion of the brain, and many would argue that babies cannot yet be intentionally mean, but I beg to differ. In fact, if memory serves me right, I'm pretty sure that all of my children had the same sick sense of in-utero humor. And if you know them now, you'll agree that it's not that hard to believe that they were causing me trouble in even the earliest stages of development.

Let me back up a little by saying that I have insanely, intensely miserable heartburn throughout all of my pregnancies. From beginning to end. It gets to the point where I am receiving most, if not all, of my nutritional value from various flavors of Tums. Not the baby's fault, though, right? I mean, kind of, but not any more than the stretch marks and weight gain and overwhelming exhaustion are. No, how I know that my baby has a particularly mean and twisted sense of humor is because of the cravings. Those I totally blame on the baby. Baby decides it wants a Hostess chocolate pudding pie, and what are you gonna do? You've gotta eat it regardless of the fact that there are a whopping 520 calories in each one. (But that's a story for a different day.) The point is that cravings are totally the baby's fault. And my babies think it would be hilariously funny to make me crave foods that they know cause me the worst acid reflux ever. Spicy chicken sandwiches, carne asada burritos, deep fried zucchini, deep fried corn dogs, deep fried just about anything, you get the picture. If it causes me misery, the baby has to have it.

Mean, mean baby. And if that weren't bad enough, when I am in the throes of the most acid caused anguish ever, I swear I can hear it just chortling away down there. Very funny. This baby had better just watch its back. I've got half a mind to take it right back to Mr. McGregor's garden where it came from.