Week 27

Great. Now, Fit Pregnancy is likening my 27-week-old pre-baby to “a small pot roast.” A pot roast with developing lungs and an 85% chance of survival if she were born today. That’s a pretty scary pot roast. Good news re: a baby though.

Did you know that four pounds of the weight you gain during pregnancy is blood? That’s a lot of extra blood to pump and carry. That tidbit makes me feel better about my inability to make it up the stairs in one go: it’s not just the extra weight but the fact that my heart is pumping like a flooded mill.

Another piece of baby trivia: it’s hard to find black baby clothes. This makes no sense since babies spend most of their time making a huge mess and black, as we all know, is the best color to cover that up. The pastels that dominate the market are the worst possible choice to hide the unfortunate accidents that beset a very small person incapable of holding up her own head while eating.

Also, black is slimming, so unless you have a premature infant, a baby in black will look svelter and more chic than her playmates which I’m sure is critical to her later development as a society hostess, fashion editor, or just generally one of those girls you hate because of her preternatural sense of style.

I’m thinking about registering for eight gallons of black Rit dye along with the baby clothes: I’ll just throw the whole batch in the washer together and we’re there.

I’m not sure what to do about the colorful shoes though. Maybe a well-applied Sharpie will do the trick. I did that once with a pair of suit pants I liked that had irritating exposed contrast stitching running down the sides. Unfortunately, the toxic Sharpie smell never went away. Having a meeting with me was like hugging a dry-erase board and I’m guessing a baby can get stoned/brain damaged pretty quickly on Sharpie fumes. Plus, they put things like their shoes in their mouths. Maybe I better come up with a different plan for the shoes.

I did find this: the Black Orbit Rocker Cradle. It’s as close as I can get to a bassinet that would fit in at a Manhattan cocktail party.

I have to be careful here though: if she’s too minimal and stylish as a baby, there’s a chance that when she gets rebellious, she’ll go all hippy or start wearing teddy bear sweaters and collecting Home Shopping Network kitten figurines. Maybe I should suck up the Fisher-Price aesthetic for a few years so she can rebound into Prada later on.

God. So many decisions.