Pregnancy Is Beautiful.

I am not a glowing, pregnant goddess.

I am not rubbing my perfectly rounded belly through some flowing, lacey dress.

I am not cuddled up in bed with my other children, laughing joyfully and looking at them lovingly as they caress the growing bump.

I am not giddy with anticipation about the arrival of my perfect, sweet newborn.

I am a giant whale who has escaped the ocean and come to eat all of the hot chips in the land.

I am wearing anything fifty times the size of me. I don’t care if it’s the same shirt I wore yesterday or has the babies snot on it I’m comfortable, okay.

I am doubled over the toilet heaving, first thing in the morning and last thing at night – my sweet song of love for my family.

I know the beautiful blood bath of labour. And the stinky, fart-joke making, poop machine that sweet newborn one day grows into.

Pregnancy is beautiful.
On someone else.

 

 

 

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