Rutabagas, skeletons, helmets and safety

Dear Internet;

Hi.  I have something really important to tell you.  This exists.  For realz, yo.  It was brought to my attention by an old friend who is almost as pregnant as I am.  So, I can get a helmet for my kid, put him on a leash (with those ridiculous yet adorable animal backpack leash things) and I don't know... I guess put knee pads on him when he starts crawling? 

When I was setting up my registry at Amazon, I asked Mr. Adventure if we need those little mitt things that keep babies from clawing their faces.  His response about mitts for babies was nearly as passionate as his anti-onesie rant.  He said that if the kid claws his face enough, he will learn not to do it and he doesn't want a 14 year old who doesn't understand that fingernails are sharp that says, "I wonder what would happen if I stick this in my eye?" and then jabs himself in the eye with his fingernail because he did not learn at an early age that that is a terrible idea.  Hilariously exaggerated, but I understood his point.  It seems like parents in the U.S. super shelter their kids. 

I have four brothers and was raised by a single mom, so my childhood was akin to Lord of the Flies.  If one of us didn't end up in the emergency room at least once a month, we felt we weren't doing our duty as children.  Though, it was one of my younger brothers who seemed to end up there the most often.  Like the time he thought it would be a good idea to swallow a penny.  (I think he was old enough to know better.  But I was about 12 when I shoved the end of a carrot in my ear and couldn't get it out.  At least I was embarrassed enough about what a stupid idea it was to blame it on one of my younger brothers when asked what happened).

I remember when I fist moved to Central America, I was riding the city bus to work (I had been there maybe three days) and I saw this kid who looked to be about six years old, sitting on the curb of a busy street, peeling a mango with a machete that was approximately half his body length.  I found this shocking, to put it mildly.  But, after constant exposure to this sort of thing, I started thinking: why not give a six year old a knife?  I mean, if they learn how to handle things responsibly from an early age, the chances are they are less likely to accidentally cut off their arm when they are a teenager, right? 

I've been reading a lot about free range parenting, too.  Because, really, people are raising children to be self-sufficient, right?  I was doing my own laundry at six and getting myself into trouble even before then.  All on my own.

I am 25 weeks pregnant now.  The internet tells me that McCloud is about the size of a rutabaga.  Whereas I very much enjoy saying and typing the word "rutabaga," I have no idea what a rutabaga looks like.  Or how big it is.  However, when I quickly googled "Rutabaga Recipes" just now, I came across a recipe for mashed rutabaga, and I find that hilarious.  So, if you want to make mashed rutabaga, here is the link.

We had to get another ultrasound last week because the ultrasound tech couldn't get a good picture of the heart at my twenty week appointment.  People keep telling me about how their ultrasound techs were wrong about the gender, and I told my tech that.  She got pretty offended and showed me again that McCloud is definitely a boy.  I feel kind of dirty now for looking.  But I hear that is not the last time I will see his penis, so I better get used to it.  My midwife later told me that she has never known the ultrasound tech to be wrong about a baby's gender.

The ultrasound tech also pointed out to me that McCloud was yawning.  She seemed far more excited about it than I was.  I mean, at 24 weeks, the baby still has translucent skin and you can see all his bones, so he looked like this tiny, creepy skeleton with a see through skin orb around him yawning.  I mean.. oh!  Yay!  The baby is yawning!  Of course he's yawning.  It's probably boring as shit in there.

I still haven't received the size up I requested for my graduation gown to encompass my giant, growing belly for this Saturday.  I'm thinking if I don't get it in time, I will just cut a belly hole in my current gown and have a fetus in a graduation cap painted on my belly.  Umbilical cord included, of course.

Not really, but that would be hilarious.

That is all.

Soccer Balls and Yogurt-covered Mango

Dear Internet,

I have two people I like to update on the type of food the internet compares my unborn child to.  Because sometimes, it is hillarifying.  Like the week the baby (or fetus.  Whatever you want to call it.  I've taken to calling him McCloud, ever since I first read about what the internet referred to as "The Quickening.") started growing lenugo or menudo or whatever it is called.  You know, the weird waxy stuff that coats unborn McClouds all over the world so they look like baby seals or something?  Except the internet was disgusting that week.  It compared McCloud to a yogurt-covered mango. 

That was around 19 weeks.  I don't really remember.  What I DO remember is that I could have made baby salsa for a while there.  The internet was all like, "This week your baby is a tomato!  An onion!  A bell pepper!  A mango!"  Depending on my mood, reading this either made me hungry or curious about the people writing these things.  Are they infant cannibals, ever on the hunt for human veal?  Are they comparing McCloud's size to food in order to plant the idea that it is socially acceptable to eat your young?  If so, why not compare the size to cuts of meat?  Like, "This week your baby is the size of a 6oz boneless, skinless chicken breast."  And they could include a recipe for the food to make it even more fun and entertaining.  Maybe they stick to fruits and vegetables because they are trying to appeal to the vegetarian and vegan market?

You know, I just remembered: there was a week where the internet compared the baby size to a 6 inch turkey sub.  "He or she now weighs about 8½ ounces and measures 6 inches, as long as a turkey sub from Subway on warm, delicious Italian Herbs and Cheese bread (or Honey Oat bread, or Oregano bread or ...)"

Seriously.  That is really what it says.

Now that I am 24 weeks pregnant, the internet tells me that my uterus is the size of a soccer ball and McCloud is allegedly the size of an ear of corn.  But is this ear of corn genetically modified?  Is Monsanto going to take me to court?  Mr. Adventure pointed out this week that the size of the baby doesn't really seem to be changing much.  And I'm inclined to agree with him.  At least, per the internet food comparisons.  Two weeks ago, so at 22 weeks, McCloud was the size of a spaghetti squash.  And I think he was also recently the size of spaghetti, too.

We know that we are having a boy and now all three of you know it, too.  What you don't know is that Mr. Adventure vetoed naming McCloud Genghis Khan.  It still makes me kind of sad.  He likes the name Jonathan.  But, no offense to all you Jonathan's out there, fuck that name.

That is all.

Wait, no it isn't.  If any of you are looking for a good recipe for an ear of corn, I recommend throwing it on the grill.  'Tis the season, after all.

Why don't I find the idea of mashed baby funny anymore?

Dear Internet;

There is something wrong with me.  And I am not referring solely to the fact that I am pregnant and, as a result, more sober than I have been in over a decade.  What I am referring to is something far more disturbing.  So, let me tell you a story.

About 8 weeks ago, when I was but 16 weeks pregnant and just announcing my pregnancy to my coworkers and letting them know that they get to do all the hard stuff while I just hang out and write academic and procedural papers, I read about what my fetus looks like at 16 weeks.  For those of you that have never read a pregnancy blog, they compare the fetus to food.  Week 16 was an avocado.  When I told Mister Adventure about the avocado and suggested we make baby guacamole, he was not amused.  He found the idea repulsive.  So, I made my suggestion to one of my favorite people from college and she, who happened to have an avocado in her kitchen at that moment, suggested she would carve it in to the shape of a fetus and mail it to us.  I found this hilarious!

Fast forward to about four weeks ago:
Mister Adventure was making dinner (he's been taking on additional household duties while I finish graduate school, work full time and grow a baby.  And he is amazing at it).  He was making mashed potatoes and had a potato masher in hand and made mashing motions at my belly while saying, "mash the baby!"  I would have found this hilarious a few weeks before, but I was not amused.  Mashed baby is hilarious!  Or, it used to be.

And that is why I decided I need to make a blog.  Or something.

So my question: am I doomed?  Am I going to lose my sense of humor entirely and be one of those horrible people that tells other people that things aren't funny?  Am I doomed to become boring?  Help me, internet!