Posts Tagged ‘pastries’

lemon meringue pie

tarte aux fruits

Though I sometimes call myself Violette the Bearess, “she” is, in fact, the same person as “I” am, just slightly more adventurous and adroit than the quiet self behind her. (You see, I started the sentence saying “I call myself” rather than “I call her.”) I am not, in fact, a bearess but a young lady who might pretend to be a bear sometimes, and I can assure you that pretending is not the same thing as actually believing oneself to be a bear, no matter how vivid one’s imagination may be, no matter how deep into the forest I may wander. Though I was born gemini (and on the cusp to further complicate matters) and may, sometimes blame a phantom twin for my transgressions and fickleness, those are are metaphors rather than physical renderings. (Even if I do look over my shoulder sometimes – I wasn’t nicknamed “Angel-Dickens” for nothin’!) I may not have had the most steadfast of careers, though however many hats I have haberdashed, this head (hairless though it was at first) is the same that pushed itself through my mother’s womb (and what a topsy-turvy that journey was), and these arms, these legs are the same that pushed and kicked and patted and parted her body. And this belly is the same I always had.

a smidgeon (scale)

Except it isn’t. I have two hearts, but I am not The Doctor (nor a Time Lord, alas). I have two stomachs, but I am not half-bovine (though I certainly feel that way at times). I have four arms, and four legs but am not an octopus, nor a horse nor a bear. But if you were to tell me that there was an octopus or a bear or a horse inside of me, I would believe you because she, “she” that the world insists on calling “baby,” swims fluidly and ponderously, then rides a circus bicycle in circles around my belly, then gallops with extravagant flexing of flank and foreleg . I am myself, living inside of this body, with a new small tenant: ferocious, floating, fragile, fierce and fiercely loved (and imagined!). She has a personality completely independent of mine. She will have (indeed, has – however tiny!)  different eyes, hair, differently shaped elbows and toes, a heart that beats quicker than mine. She will adore different animals and trees, different books, different horizons, but many of the same people though in her own, independent way.

a macaron

Already she will turn over or push up again her father’s hand on my belly (if I can call it mine) or when he talks to her. From the way she moves (“kicking” really can’t be the proper term – she somersaults, she swims, she does yoga, then patters upside down on my belly button) I can almost imagine her playing peek-a-boo, or, in other moments, studiously re-arranging my organs like books in a library for a more comfortable spot to languish (though she never languishes for long).

fleur de sel

One thing I cannot, however, imagine is her as a kumquat. Or an ear of corn. Or a cabbage. (Really? a cabbage?) When I first found out that there was a baby inside of me, I learned that she was, at the time (no longer!) the size of a poppy seed. Happy happy imagination: amazing! And then she was a pea. And then an almond, then a peach, etc. and it just seemed all wrong. When I went from having a navel orange one week to an avocado the next I was befuddled and bemused. Aren’t navel oranges bigger than avocados? (I eat both nearly every day!) And why fruits? Why not furry animals, or birds (a chickadee, a sparrow, an oriole)? Or why not something that (I can’t help it!) is going into the building of this child? like… pastries?

a cupcake

( I do crave oranges (is it the “navel”?) – oh but clementines, too! and Cara Cara oranges and satsumas and, Oh, California, I miss you!) but the orange was only one week’s worth of size! She is NOT a cabbage! No way no how will I allow my little girl to be a cabbage.)  So I decided to make a chart of my own that I could, well, relate to a little bit better. What happened, in fact, was that I related to the chart so well that I found myself crossing the street to our lovely french bakery for, um, reference materials… And it is a little bit silly, and a little bit whimsical and not very scientific, but this is what I came up with.

The First Twenty Weeks

The First Twenty Weeks

The Second Twenty Weeks

The Second Twenty Weeks

Now I can be a mama bear and a petit four, or an angel food cake and a mama haberdasher, or a tiny little circus bear and a proper circus tent (at least, thats how I feel!) Either way, this is a double life I will gladly lead until she decides to become her own, independent little person who can choose her own cakes and breads and she can show us who, exactly, she will be.

angel food cake

a petit fours


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