Or as the third chair cellist in my middle school orchestra put it: A Cow! Ew Gas! That wouldn’t leave my mind as I thought of this poetry challenge….The bass clef mnemonic. I will try again. I don’t do lyric poetry:
A boy cries, Don’t eat fine grub!
He isn’t joking: kind lemons multiply,
Not over pie, quarks rustle slowly,
Through underground vents, while xenogeneic yeomen zigzag.
I would go through the list of blogs from which I got this, but just check out Slouching Mom for the list if you’re interested.
We went to a wedding last night that featured karaoke singing. I of course didn’t get up and sing. But I did become overly exhausted by just sitting in an uncomfortable chair for almost 4 hours, and once again felt somewhat guilty for failing to be a chatty pregnant woman. I wish I would have the chance to discuss anything BUT babies and pregnancy yet somehow the protruding belly makes that difficult. At soon as I arrived, people began coming up to me, crying “Oh!” or as one guy we haven’t seen since he moved across the country said, “Nice!” (as much to Josh as to me). I thought I might try to revel in the attention as if I were any old pregnant woman. That worked for about five minutes.
I don’t mind people touching my belly, really, at all. I don’t want to compare notes on pregnancies or children. And yet of course they are preoccupied by my pregnant state if I haven’t seen them in months or years or we don’t know each other well at all. I’m preoccupied by my pregnant state and I’m stuck with myself all the time. I just always hope that being social will allow me some time for distraction but instead it puts it in sharp focus.
I’m making the wedding sound as if it were awful, but it was fine. I just want people to be cooing over a baby in my arms, not my belly.
Today, I have been pregnant longer than ever.