When we set out in married life,
I’d fancy notions of a wife,
And everything went really well,
Until my tum began to swell,
No-one said how it would be,
In blob advancing pregnancy.
And even though the years may pass,
I remember ante-natal class.
They filles us full of many lies,
You puff and pant and out it flies.
In baths you float, all calm serene,
You meditate on fields of green.
The point of this to me seems vague,
It’s natural, well so’s the Plage.
They brought out pain relief and why,
Because before women would die.
Don’t give me all that new age stuff,
It’s so much more than pant and puff,
They must think we’re a bunch of mugs,
Don’t mop my brow, just give me drugs!
You yell and scream and make a fuss,
You’d rather be hit by a bus.
And then distressed, alarmed observers,
See doc advance with salad servers,
I’ve seen ER, forceps are small,
In ops you see them scarce at all,
But these, I hope that you will note,
They’re big enough to row a boat.
There’s no way that they can manage,
To insert those without some damage.
For days then you can’t bear to look,
And see the toll the baby took,
Then finally you look and see,
And find the Bayeux Tapestry.
Three days later, you’re still yelling,
IT’s black and blue, and stitched, and swelling.
Misfortunes comes in threes not ones,
Because then you have two hot cross buns,
And for your near exploding chest,
It’s cabbage leaves that they suggest,
But we all put on bravest faces,
With bashed and bruised important places.
But what’s the moral of this story,
Of mess and blood and matters gory,
I wish that someone just had said,
Sometimes it won’t be quite as read.
I read what other ladies felt,
As they’d float, or squat, or knelt,
For some it was their finest hour,
Their body opened like a flower,
They went back home immediately,
And had placenta for their tead,
I must say I’m not in a hurry,
To fine that lurking in my curry.
I sometimes feel for some that maybe,
They want the birth more than the baby.
(c) Janice O’Keeffe All Rights Reserved