I apologize in advance that despite the title, this post will not be at all titilating.
Week 15- Baby is 4 inches long and curled up into something the size of an apple. I might have said it here before, but I really hate these fruit comparisons. They’re so unhelpful. What kind of apple are we talking, here? There’s a big difference between a schoolboy and an orchard honeycrisp.
Perhaps this will change around month 8 or so, but right now I like to imagine that my baby is the superlative of every fruit-baby comparison. Week 15 is an apple, you say? Well our baby is, of course, the size of one of those freak apples that win prizes at the state fair for being so impressively large. Imagining it this way makes me feel MORE pregnant and thus more comfortable and less likely to freak out that things might die.
I’m moving on from that freaking out stage. I only check my TP for blood 90% of the time now. I’m beginning to feel like it’s real and I’m comfortable talking about my pregnancy. But at the same time, I still don’t want the whole effing Relief Society to know until it’s absolutely unavoidable. So I’m still a little guarded.
Alright, enough with the boring updates on my feelings. You’re here either because you know and love me/want fodder for gossip OR you love my rants. So here’s my rant-of-the-week.
Multiple people have asked whether I’m finding out the sex of the baby. Fine. Cool. I’m happy to share. But more than once, it’s been asked in a tone of guarded suspicion meant to convey that the asker has some very strong opinions on the matter. Usually there’s some tell-tale drop in tone or emphasis on the wrong word.
When I tell them yes, I get one of two responses:
“Oh good! Those people who don’t..I just don’t get them. What is their problem?” or,
“*Sigh* Just can’t wait, can you? Well, I was patient. What’s the fun of Christmas if you already know what your present is going to be?”
I don’t care whether or not you want a surprise. That’s not the issue, here. It’s that, once again, women are passing judgment on other women for THE MOST INNOCUOUS PARENTING CHOICES. Discovering what genitalia the baby will have is ENTIRELY preference. Play nice, people! Is this where the mommy wars begin? Because I want no part of them.
For me, it’s not that I’m just so incredibly impatient that I can’t wait a few weeks to find out. It’s that I don’t want a surprise. I want the focus of my hippie candlelit birthing cocoon to be on me and the baby. Not what junk it’s sporting. For myself, I’m just excited to be having a baby. At all. Period. The moment will in no way be dampened, for me, by knowing ahead of time what sex parts this baby will have.
Also it’s the baby’s sex. Not its gender. Just my annoying little feminist aside.
We find out the baby’s sex at the end of July. In the meantime, plan on me taking lots of quizzes, reading Chinese astrology charts, and peeing in cups of baking soda for clues. It’s not pointless if I’m having fun, right?
Finally, it’s DELURK time, people. I have over 100 readers some days. I know y’all didn’t e-mail me personally, so say hello. I’ll even do some reciprocal blog reading and commenting, because comments are fun. I’m only half doing this for my own enjoyment/uncensored ranting/journaling, the other half is to collect comments so that I may base my personal worth upon them.