past due

Oil drips between my lips

with hopes

of coaxing my babe

into

this

world

beyond the womb

a little note

For any person whose been pregnant, you know what this poem is about.

Why doctors and midwives insist on calling the baby’s birth day a due date, I can only assume they’re into torture!

I was HUGE.

Each day that passed was more irritating than the day before.

Every part of me felt tight. And not the kind of tight you want and workout for.

Nope.

I’m talking about the the tightness that comes from skin being stretched beyond. So stretched that it’s itchy because it’s being pulled. SO tight. Should I say tight one more time?!? TiiiiiiiiiiGHT!!!!!!

I grew chins I didn’t know were possible. I developed farm arms, thank you Mennonite DNA. And it was no small feat rolling out of bed. Every pregnant woman is a goddess!

I would love to report that the baby arrived later that day or even the next, but no, she didn’t pop for about another week. And you might say, well, predicting due dates is an inexact science. And I would say: “Not if a syringe-wielding doctor placed that baby and several others in my uterus on a very known date.”

Due dates need a new name.