Saturday, October 18, 2008

A little room, please

I can't breathe. Sleep. Eat. Walk. Bend. Or even git it on properly at this point.

The gift of gestation is a mysterious one indeed. It blows, my man. It's fucking hard. Even the most blessedly blissed out mamas wake up with a mouth full of almost digested food every once in a while. But we keep. On. Doing. It. Did I mention that it hurts to push the thing out, too? It does. Can't leave that part out.

But here I sit; swoled up like a bloated kaiser roll languishing in a still puddle, and I'm happy.

That is, until I leave my house, my haven, my family and go out into the world and see OTHER PEOPLE.

Here's a tip humanity: I KNOW I'M BIG. I know I look like I'm about to "drop that thing". I know my boobs are huge and my smile is infrequent. I know. Your reminders make me want to put on some lipstick and go pit-bull on your ass, k?

Oh, and no you can't touch. Peace.

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