Separated at birth?
My wife regularly checks in on a Web site that tells us how big our baby is getting. Now in his 17th week, this site tells us, my child is the size of a baked potato.
Huh? I’m a bit confused by this. Why is my baby not simply the size of a potato? Or, if you like, a large potato? A russet potato? A King Edward potato? Why does he have to be baked? Is it that a baked potato, swollen and cracked open and smeared with butter, is the thing that more accurately reflects the actual size of my boy than one not baked for an hour at 450 degrees? Is it that a baked potato broken open to reveal its fluffy insides is a better representation of the bundle of joy I will hold in my arms? Does he have the foil still on? What gives?
I recall Jonathan Swift’s extended satire “A Modest Proposal” when he suggested we all eat Irish potatoes … no wait! It wasn’t the potatoes!
At what point will my baby be the size of a baked potato with sour cream? Or a baked potato with bacon bits? At week 17 do I consider him covered with chives? At what point is he baked potato au gratin?
I’m sure a doctor can write in and tell me why a baked potato was the proper analogy and not a regular potato yanked right out of the ground. Please, medical community. Help me with this.
Tune in in the next couple of weeks when my baby will be the size of a Cornish game hen with all the trimmings.
Potato image:
Image: Suat Eman / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Ultrasound image: Property of ER Salo Deguierre.
Beauty is Imperfection 
Yo, Eric! He’s baked because he’s in the oven. But at this point, he’s not even half-baked.
You’re not a doctor!