Friday, February 16, 2007
Skipp(y)ing a generation
Sometimes Annabel points to my chest and says, "My baby's in there."
The "MY BABY" phrasing always makes me think of her as a mommy and me as a surrogate. I laugh at the visual in my head as I try to direct her index finger a bit lower, toward my expanding waistline.
"No, Honey. Your baby's in HERE," I say for emphasis.
"No! She's in there," she responds with a voice filled with confidence and a double pointed poke that simulaneously reinforces her belief that the baby is (a) really a girl, and (b) inside my breasts (which I must admit do appear as if they are making a more rapid increase in size than my uterus).
It's also amusing because so far I have yet to experience the fabled "pregnancy cravings" I've heard so much about.
When I was pregnant with Annabel I did eat a lot of spinach and chicken -- and ended up with an aversion to eggs in the last several months -- but I assumed my desires for different foods had more to do with what didn't burn as much when it was coming back up the tube in the form of acid reflux. It was all about trial and error, not genuine larder lust.
This time around I've noticed a desire for all kinds of cheese -- from American to Cottage -- but that's not unusual for me. Whenever I put anything into my mouth I wonder: Is this a pregnancy craving, really, or is it just the normal fluctuations of supply and demand? You know, like whenever Atomic Fireballs are stocked in the office vending machine -- Pregnant or not, they call to me.
But every day Annabel comes up with a new taste sensation that only she seems to be able to fathom.
"I really think I'm going to be sick," said Jed last night at dinner as she dipped green bean after green bean into grape juice and gobbled them down like candy.
"Why does she want her peas frozen?" he asked last week as he poured the peas directly from bag to plate.
"I don't know. I think it's because she's weird," I say, neglecting to mention the dessert of ice cream she demanded not long ago was to be drizzled with the green legumes instead of the traditional sugary sprinkles.
I thought perhaps it was the desire to shock and amuse that caused her to tell the sitter she didn't actually like peanut butter and celery, and instead dipped spoonfuls of corn into the little tub of Skippy I'd sent for snack.
But now I'm wondering if she didn't inherit the pregnancy cravings I've never had?