In the 21st century, you don't just procreate, gestate and deliver (perhaps accompanied by unsolicited advice from your mother, mother in law, siblings, coworkers, and myriad other all-too-willing experts.) That was old school.
In the 21st century, you go through pregnancy twice: once in real life, once virtually.
Exhibit A: You're reading it.
Exhibit B: Babycenter.com, babyuniverse.com, babyzone, babygaga (ew), americanbaby.com, ebay.baby.com, etc, etc.
Most of those sites are just a way to entice the uninitiated (like me) into buying more crap, I mean, "expanding our
layette," so little Lyric can slide right out in June as a well-dressed, well-accessorized little Consumer before the doctor even gets to give her a good slap on the butt.
That said, I subscribe to Babycenter.com, the modern mamma's alternative to What to Expect When You're Expecting, the favorite reader of all those so-20th-Century moms. (I read both of course).
I'm on week 25 of their weekly emails telling me what the fetus looks like (currently: 13 inches, 1.5 lb., furry, wrinkly, and slimy. That description won't be differing much for the next few months, I suspect. Though as previously noted, I'm thankful to learn she's traded in her flippers for toes.)
The weekly emails have, however, become a little boring since Fetal Lyric got all her human features. Prior to week 20, she was always a fruit. Or a nut. Or other yummy (organic, I'm sure) edible. And I liked it.
In week 5, tiny Lyric was but a sesame seed. Then she became a lentil. And then a rasberry (that was week 7 when supposedly her tail fell off. Where did it go?).
Week 8, she was just a kidney bean, and in week 9, a yummy grape. Week 10, she was a kumquat! (That's right, and no, I've never had one either. But here's a tree of them for you.)
Week 11: Lyric the fig (newton)! My little figgy. And in week 12, she became what I considered the big breakthru fruit: The Lime. I'm thinking key lime. Mmmmh...pie.
Then, oddly, in week 13, she had an off week as a jumbo shrimp, which was a little gross. But then she went right back to being plump and juicy as a lemon. And then....an avocado (no, it's not a vegetable just because you would never, ever bite into one.)
In week 17, things started to get off track. They told me she was like an onion. Sweet vidalia? Yellow? White? They didn't say. And then a zucchini...which is kind of cute, though I think butternut squash might have been a better editorial choice. Or how about a banana?
And that was it. At week 20, my weekly emailers withdrew the fruit analogies, the vegetable and seafood analogies, and that was that. Now I hear about how she's hairy and slimy and well, gross. No reference to the fruit cessation, nothing. No apples or oranges? Canteloupes or Corn? Bueller?
And now I have a whole basketful of fruits I can't eat without feeling, well, a little nostalgic for the good old days.
I guess you all know what happened next: We flirted, got hammered, I blew him off 117 times, we got drunk another 430 times, and now we are happily married, staying home to watch 24 and Battlestar Galactica, and I'm carrying our multicelled mash-up in my belly.
Bonus: He's still really, really hot and in love with me. And for quite long time now, I too am doting and totally in love. (Note: He doesn't read my blog; don't tell on me.)
