According to the sole “So, You’re Having a Baby! Here’s a Bunch of Stuff to Worry About!” book I own, the baby is now the size of a peach—three inches from the top of its head to the bottom of its bottom. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen a peach that small, even at the hippie organic non-genetically-modified stores where I get my produce.
On a different size-related note, it’s hard to imagine shooting a peach out of my vagina—even a small one. I shudder to think what fruits the next six months will bring.