Being pregnant in 2015 is a constant exercise in cognitive dissonance.

At 16 weeks along, if I eat deli meat, dip a toe in a hot tub, or order an espresso at Starbucks, then I’m already a bad mom who’s putting her baby at risk. But if I decide that said baby has come at an inconvenient time or has too high a risk of having an undesirable medical condition, then I am a responsible woman who should be praised and supported for making the tough decision to dispose of the unwanted products of conception that have invaded my body.

My Little Poppy Seed

Back in May, when I got the positive test that meant our lives were going to change forever, I did what any good millennial does when faced with an unfamiliar situation: I Googled like crazy, and I downloaded a bunch of new apps.

There are so many pregnancy apps out there, and they have all kinds of different features. One common theme is the use of fruit to help you visualize how big your baby is. Right now, my baby is the size of an avocado.

When I first opened them up, both The Bump and the What to Expect apps agreed that at four weeks since my last menstrual period—just two weeks since conception—my baby was the size of a poppy seed. My baby. Just hearing that phrase made me imagine what it would be like to have a little one to hold in less than nine months’ time. I wondered whether he or she would have my dark brown hair or be a blonde like my husband. What kind of personality would this new little one have?

My baby. Sure, the apps explained that his or her technical name at four weeks was a “blastocyst” whose cells would soon split to develop into an embryo and a placenta. Still, the terms in which my baby was described were undeniably personal. If I were to take the app at face value, there would be no getting around the fact that the poppy seed-sized little one inside me was, in fact, a human being.

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