Lemon head

Julie gets fetus updates emailed to her every week. Early in the pregnancy, she swallowed a microscopic Dennis Quaid, and he sits on her pancreas (feels to him like a beanbag chair) and types updates on his microscopic laptop. This week, apparently, the fetus is the size of a lemon.

No, not like an Edsel. That'll take another 20 weeks or so. It's the size of an actual lemon.

And it can grimace. Grimace! Which incidentally it's doing as I type this, since Julie is watching a season one episode of Grey's Anatomy. Meredith hasn't yet learned that McPuffyhair is married. Sooooo dramatic.

Tomorrow we have an appointment to hear the heartbeat. They have two soup cans connected by string, one placed on her paunch, the other stretched across the room and held up to my ear. "I hear it, honey. Amazing! And Dennis Quaid says your fallopian tubes are very tubular. He thinks he's funny."

The email also says the fetus can suck its thumb, which makes me wonder when I'll stop calling it a fetus and start calling it a (gulp) baby. Give me a day. Let me hear its heartbeat, and it'll no longer be a fetus.