Wednesday, June 1, 2016


It’s important to remember that while pregnant, you are your child’s entire world.  It somewhat eases the pain of becoming a small planet.

As a new celestial body, I naturally possess a powerful gravitational pull.  Crumbs are especially vulnerable; being dragged deeply into the black hole that is my ever-expanding cleavage. 

I tell you, I cannot get through a meal without doing something disgusting.  Yesterday a small cube of cooked chicken wound up so deep in my outfit it was publicly irretrievable.  The day before I missed my mouth not once but twice, spilling ginger beer all over myself.  And don’t get me started on the mucus production.  Every time I laugh, some food-laden spittle comes flying out of my mouth like a small asteroid. 

You simply can’t take me anywhere.

Hiding out at home is not without its perils either.  With an altered depth perception, my house has become a veritable obstacle course.  I’ve taken to examining my legs nightly, trying fruitlessly to recall the origins of each fresh black and blue. 

After that, I grease my rings to remove them from my sausage fingers and carefully lower myself into the docking station that is my full-body pillow. 

But through it all, there is one undeniable truth:  stained clothes, bloated limbs and bruised legs get old; but the joy of feeling your baby move about the world you’ve made him is forever.

“Say good morning Bobby” I greet my husband each day. 

“Good morning, baby boy!” he says with the sweetest belly kiss.

And with that I’m off to tackle another rotation – grossing twenty-somethings out of reproducing one lunch break at a time. 

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