Men

It is finally March.  I'm ignoring the snow that coats my lawn, bushes and the rooftops and focusing, instead, on the sun that's pushing its way through the kitchen window to kiss my shoulder as I write this week's blog.  26 weeks down, 13 weeks and 6 days to go.  Tallulah, my granddaughter, (not really going to be her name, I remind you) is now the size of a cucumber.  A cucumber- how could that be?  For two weeks she was the size of an eggplant- most cucumbers I buy are smaller than eggplants.  Where is this guy, who made up these baby development correlations to produce, shopping, I wonder?  And the reason why I refer to him as a male is because I suspect he is since most men I know don't go to the supermarket often, at least not Tallulah’s grandfather.  Therefore, in protest, I refuse to use these comparisons any more and I'm not buying any cucumbers this week because I don't like cucumbers- their seeds annoy me and they give me heartburn.

Tallulah weighs 1 pound, 12 ounces and is probably about 15 inches long.  I have the latest sonogram of her perfect profile on my iPhone, which I will add to this blog entry.  Her hearing is developing, so I have to remember to sing to her when Lindsay comes over.  Actually, Lindsay, who tried out for American Idol nine times, should be singing to her, too and reading to her, as well.  I think she should forego the nursery rhymes they suggest and read her something like Anne of Green Gables or Charlotte's Web. Instead of spiders scaring a child away, my granddaughter should be exposed to the wonders of spiders through rich literature that is timeless. 

Tallulah’s taste buds are developed now, too, and apparently she is able to taste what her mother eats from the amniotic fluid.  So tonight, Lindsay and Scott are coming over for dinner and Grandpa is making his tasty eggplant Parmesan.  He already peeled the eggplants and has them sitting on the counter in a colander layered in paper towels with a pot of water resting in top.  He explained that this method is necessary to get all the moisture out of the eggplant.  I don't know where he learned this, perhaps he switched from the National Geographic, Military, History or DIY channels while he was flicking the TV remote and saw it on the Food Network. Or, more likely, I just wasn’t paying attention when he told me where he heard this.  

At more than half way along, Lindsay and Scott have made the bold decision to change obstetricians.  They were unhappy with the office of their current ob-gyn as well as with the other two doctors in the practice.  Surprisingly, my daughter is now using a practice with all men, something she thought she would never do.  She believed only female gynecologists "understood" women's health issues.  But she is very happy with these male doctors.  One of them is a bit of a comedian.  When she asked him what she could do for her back pain, he responded with "When your back hurts, your husband needs to buy you gifts."   Obviously, this male gynecologist understands her. 

Presently, Grandpa Mark is anxious to begin to fry the eggplant in preparation for the dinner he's making even though it’s not even 11am.  He is grumbling at me to go to the supermarket to get more breadcrumbs and eggs, which we have run short on.  And although, I am still in my pajamas and still writing my blog, while he is dressed, he keeps asking, "When are you going to the store to get the eggs and breadcrumbs?"  You gotta love men.  Yesterday, Lindsay asked Scott to make her breakfast and his response was- I just cleaned the kitchen.  So, here's the dilemma- is it better to have a husband who cleans or one who cooks?  I would just like one who shops.

And this is why most men probably do not know the accurate size of fruit.

Off to the store...see you next week.