It's not all that impressive, I realize.
But it is a lot bigger than it used to be. Plus my baby is only somewhere between the size of a lime and a lemon.
Apparently at 12 weeks, it should be a lime. I'm making up the lemon part. I'm not sure what they're going to give me next.
If you've never read a baby book or looked at one of those sites, you do not know that as soon as it's bigger than a pin prick, or an angel kiss, or whatever it starts out as, they start comparing it to fruit. I think the first one might have been raisin or cranberry.
I've signed up for these weekly email updates. They're informative, and the fruit amuses me.
"This week, your little darling is the size of a grape!"
"This week, your baby is the size of a prune (although decidedly less wrinkled)!"
I'm not kidding you. I'm quoting almost verbatim, especially the cheesy "less wrinkled!" part. Last week it was a kumquat. This week a lime.
I must admit to curiosity about the fruit of choice and just how big they go. I'm going to doubt it's ever a weird, exotic one like chirimoya, or an awkward shape like starfruit.
But back to my little lime.
The sonogram person yesterday said it was measuring almost a full week bigger than 12 weeks. They said this is fine, in that you don't really know when you conceived, they just go by your last period.
I pointed at Nick. "Do you think it could have anything to do with my husband's size?"
They stifled laughter and replied that yes, genetics can play a role.
I didn't mean it jokingly.
One of my huge concerns is that this baby is going to turn out to be half as big as me. In fact, size concerns are as follows:
That by month seven he or she (and if it's that enormous, I am hoping for a he) will have squished my lungs, heart, and in fact all my organs up into my throat trying to get comfy. And remember the part in Alien just before the alien bursts out of that guy's stomach? That will be me. And! And by the time my kid is fully cooked, he's not going to wait to be delivered, he's just going to reach a huge hand through my hoo-ha and pull himself out.
And then he'll demand a roast beef sandwich.
You know I'm not kidding.