“Here” is the womb, from which a boisterous baby speaks with all the subtlety of its sister-under-the-skin, Junie B. In Park’s rhyming couplets, the obstreperous babe complains, “I’m all in a heap here. My feet are asleep here. I’m flat out of space. I’ve got knees in my face.” And so on. As the infant anticipates entry into the world, the tone modulates to an acknowledgement that it won’t be easy on either party, but that the rewards will be great, when the time is right. Garofoli does her best with the limited options presented by an enwombed fetus, depicting a vigorous pink baby with a giant, round head as it both struggles to expand the confines of its current environment and imagines its upcoming adventures. Curiously enough, for a book whose only conceivable child audience is the older-sibling-to-be crowd, no such child is present, either in text or illustrations. The end result is a cheery, sassy offering whose colossal promotion will ensure big sales to expectant parents as novelty baby-shower gifts. But it’s not a children’s book. (Picture book. Adult)
