Cutting Up Baby

Oooooh… the pangs of motherhood… the anguish of parenting… the woeful need to plunge a knife deep into the heart of my fleshy, white baby and carve it a new face.

Don’t worry, I haven’t gone psycho – it’s just Jack-O’-Lantern time.

See, I planted a little seed, and it grew into a leaf, and the leaf became a vine, and the vine produced big yellow flowers, and the flower bore a fruit, and the fruit got bigger and fatter and months later, I had made myself a pumpkin. A beautiful, round, white Lumina pumpkin.

And now it’s late October, and in the spirit of the season, I should sacrifice my baby so that the neighborhood kids can have an evening of spooky ambiance as candlelit eyes peer out at them from the darkness of my front porch. But I don’t know if I can do it. It just feels WRONG.

I brought my little pumpkin into work today, and it’s staring forlornly at me from its spot on my desk, enjoying the last few hours of its life as a whole entity, before I scrape out its innards and perform unholy acts on its skin.

And the worst part? This is a nice, heavy, organically-grown, sweet-fleshed pumpkin, just begging to be made into the most delicious pumpkin pie ever tasted. I kind of want to eat my baby.

I am the worst mother in the world. I’ll never grow gourds again.

5 thoughts on “Cutting Up Baby

  1. Dude, no. You are not a bad person.

    You did not grow the pumpkins you are planning on slicing up FROM SEED. Seriously, I don’t know how the farmers at Chudleigh’s do it every year. I’d just cry.

  2. You can have it both ways! Save the bits you chop out of its face in a plastic bag and throw them in the fridge; haul the carved lantern part back in as soon as you’re done with it as a festive decoration; roast, puree, and turn into pie. Num!

  3. Sometimes, I’d say you frighten me if you didn’t amuse me so much.

    Think of it this way, gourds have been growing for many eons with the express purpose of being eaten. If you’re adding in a little slice and light along the way you’re not doing anything wrong, you’re merely helping the tiny little gourd to expand its horizons.

  4. At least if you just ate the baby pumpkin, you’d be enjoying the fruits of its labour without needlessly torturing it and multilating it into the process. And without having the enormous indecency to mount it on your porch to show the world your skills at carving innocent pumpkins.

    I say eat it and enjoy its tender sweetness without the butchery. Save that for the common orange pumpkin that you didn’t hand-rear.

    Either that or carve it something nice, not scary and make it proud. And then eat it.


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