5 more limericks

My baby will soon be blessed
To feed from his mommy’s breast
My boobs a food source
As a matter of course
Milk and love to be expressed.

A knocked-up girl from Monroe
Sought fame which seemed apropos
Although not her plan
Once her labor began
She was the star of her own bloody show.

Labor stories are meant to scare
Though I’m pregnant with nary a care
My water may break
While I’m out having steak
But the chance is medium-rare.

A baby bump is very impressive
When circumference becomes quite excessive
To get around your gut
And clean up your butt
With T.P. you must be aggressive.

I prefer my skin smooth and bare
Sleek legs with no public hair
But I’m shaped like a keg
I can’t reach my legs
And I guess there’s a pussy down there?

Pregnancy Limericks

I've been writing three limericks a day, and I plan to keep this up until Scooter is born. Below are the ones I have so far. Some are better than others. Getting the meter right with limericks is the tricky part:

There was a young woman named Sonia
Who feasted on Cake and Lasagna
Her belly got big
As she supped like a pig
But she was pregnant, so folks said “Good on ya!”

There was a young lady from Kent
Who enjoyed rough sex with her gent
But then she got prego
He fertilized her eggo
And sex became gentle, less bent.

Significantly pregnant Ms. Mabel
Was in labor but mentally stable
"An enema!" and a curse
she spat at the nurse
She hated to poop on the birthing table.

Sonia lives someplace quite rural
And likely will get an epidural
People say pain is right
When you labor all night
But Sonia doesn’t give a flying squirrel.

There was a young wife from Ipswitch
Whose labor was a terrible bitch
Pain she couldn’t bare
She felt her parts tear
Still she asked for the “husband stitch!”

There was a little fetus named Scooter
Whose in utero pic couldn’t be cuter
In Vegas conceived
His parents perceived
His daddy must be a straight shooter!

There was a girl from Leicester
Well into her third trimester
She cleaned with great feeling
Even scrubbed down the ceiling
Not a bird, but still quite a nester.

Pregnancy seems like forever
30 pounds of sheer endeavor
No brie and no drinks
That part really stinks
But I suck it up and say, yeah, whatever…

Squeezing out my baby's head
Fills me with a sense of dread
Will I squeeze mainland China
Through the hole in my vagina
or is he Luxembourg instead?

Emotional Engorgement

They say that pregnancy can make one more emotional. They, that great committee of anonymous experts, are correct. For example:

1. At the vet: Discussing our dogs' health with Dr. Trish. Michael and I converse abut whether Scooter will remember Emily, who will be 7 when he is born. Who (oh, hurts me to type this) will not be around forever. Total waterworks. Completely lost it in front of the vet.

2. Anything that is mildly funny becomes pee-my-pants hilarious now. Watching the Daily Show, for example. Funny, sure. Jon Stewart is a wit. But, so funny that I can't breathe and Michael worries for my health, mental and otherwise?

3. Mmmm, anger is fun. Cut me off when driving, and it's a good thing I'm not carrying my Sig. Behave as if the world revolves around you, and I could tear you limb from limb. Weeee!

4. Oh, Cold Case, how you get me with that manipulative, cheesy music montage at the end of every episode. Crying into my knitting to some sappy tune while all the characters gaze off distractedly into the hazy distance.

5. Joy. A simple Cannoli is all it takes.

Is Pregnancy Profound?

As a poet, I have this sense that I should be documenting my pregnancy in verse. Yet, I have a problem poeticizing my pregnancy. Michael and I were driving to Manhattan, and I was explaining to him how at ease I felt with my state of being, and how, as a result, I struggled with expressing the profundity of our situation.

I have a small human being moving around in my belly. He's pushed all of my organs out of the way, and, furthermore, it has gotten to the point where I can feel knees, elbows, and feet rolling under my skin, but I go on driving to the supermarket and shopping for apples while all this action happens behind the curtains on the circular stage of my uterus.

Perhaps it's because it takes 40 weeks of gradual changes to reach the final outcome. Isn't it that things profound are usually sudden in happenstance, revelation or realization? For example, the morbidly obese do not wake up one day to find themselves three hundred pounds overweight. It takes years for them to reach this point. If they had awakened to find themselves suddenly in their state of existence, they would understand the gravity of their situation. They would know that they were profoundly overweight. It has been a gradual change over the course of 34 weeks for me to have reached this point, so I have had time to become comfortable with pregnancy.

Women have been pregnant since the chicken or the egg. It's hard to add weight to my own role in the propagation of the human race. What is stunning to me now is knowing that we will care for and shape another human being. This strikes me as far more intense.

Pain Management

http://markii.wordpress.com/2006/11/28/british-scientists-have-just-confirmed-a-link-between-head-size-and-intelligence/

This concerns me. If this is true, then my problem is such: The smarter our child, the more painful it will be to squeeze him through my vagina, and I'd like a smart kid. It hurts me already just thinking about cranium size.

I like to think that I have a decent ability to endure (I've been miserably sick and endured; I've run 7 miles and endured; I've endured dental work, family history, and bad drug experiences.). I like to think that I have a high pain threshhold (I've sat for tattoos for 5 hours straight; I've had root canals; I've been subjected to really questionable music). Unfortunately, I have no idea what to expect. The very fact that it's known as "labor" should be taken as a warning.

To epidural or not to epidural? That is the question:

Why be in pain if I don't have to?

Well, women have dealt with the pain of childbirth since the chicken or the egg.

Yes, but these women might have accepted pain relief if it were available to them.

Yes, but the ability to endure is the same reason that people run marathons. Maybe I don't want pain relief because I want to see if I can do it without.

I've heard that a woman has better control over the situation emotionally when she gets the epidural.

I've heard that sometimes a woman can't push properly with the epidural, and so they give her Pitocin, which rips her vagina open like a piñata.

What if my labor proceeds very quickly? Then I won't need the epidural.

What if my labor proceeds at such pace that I miss the opportunity for the epidural?

What if my labor goes on forever because Scooter has an enormous brain, and I end up needing a c-section because I can't push out his cranium?

The Graphically Pregnant Body

Obviously pregnancy changes each woman's body differently. For myself, at 34 weeks, some changes have been drastic, and others more subtle.

Starting from the top down: The hair is overall the same. My face is the same. I already had hyperpigmentation due to contraceptives and sunshine, so the dark spots on my face are not a result of pregnancy.

To address the overall largest organ of the body: I have some small bumps as a result of pregnancy. I believe they're known as PUPP (an acronym including the words pregnancy and papules, I believe). They're similar to hives, and they itch like a bitch. In my first trimester, for whatever reason, I developed a nasty case of vesicular eczema on my hands and feet. My extremities looked leprous. It's completely gone now. Go figure. I also have developed some small skin tags here and there. As a child, I remember how certain relatives had a proliferation of skin tags on their faces and necks. May this not be the case for me.

Most disturbing, though, is my linea negra, which should be running down the center of my belly. Apparently, though, I am asymmetrical. Either my belly button (not so much a button now, but more of a flat brown disc, like a penny, with a mildly outie bump in the middle) is off-center or my linea negra is off-center. Either way, my middle does not line up. My hole from my piercing, which I removed, is flattened against my belly, but it is still viable. Provided my belly bounces back to some semblance of itself, I can put my ring back in. A few inches above the piercing hole, there is another mysterious hole in my belly that has been there as long as I can remember. I have no idea what it is. I have always joked that it was where the aliens implanted my tracking device. Well, I thought that I'd finally figure out the mystery hole once my belly expanded and the hole stretched, but I still have no idea what it is. It's still just a strange small hole in my belly.

My private parts have become private even to me. I haven't seen them in months. Here is one of the biggest problems with living in the middle of nowhere: I can't find a decent sugarer. And I'm afraid to leave my parts in the hands of some dragon-lady waxer. So, I have pubic hair again, which appalls me. But, if I can't see my parts, I can't really be all that offended by them. But, once Scooter is born, you can bet that I'll once again renovate: Goodbye carpet, hello hardwood floors!

Okay, the boobs. Soon to be a food source. They're a cup-size larger, and a bit softer. But, holy cow, my nipples are nearly the size of tea-cups! The craziest thing about my belly and boobs is the veins. My skin is stretched and my blood volume has increased, which has made me a walking model of vascularity. Yet, the phlebotomist still can't find my antecubital vein.

Hmm, what else?

Feet: same. Legs: same. Ass: same (thank God). Who knows? I may have developed some spider or varicose veins, but I can't really see below my belly. Shaving my legs is problematic, but the razor prevails.

So, there it is. And in a month and a half, new changes.