***
Fox's Lament
by Merlin Missy
mtgat@aol.com
Copyright 1996, 2000
***
to Ms. Christine Faltz
I think that I shall never see
A longer time than pregnancy.
My no-no list is long and far;
I'd kill to have a Hershey Bar.
Lamaze class is a royal bore
With bodyguards standing at the door.
Handgliding? Please don't think me crude,
But, aerodynamically, I'm screwed.
I look like a whale, my back is sore,
Parts of me jiggle that didn't before.
My hands are cold, my ankles swell,
My muscles ache: I am in hell.
Hormones are another thing:
My nerves are hanging by a string,
And then, teardrops, like summer rain,
Pour for "Pinky and the Brain."
As you might expect, this aggravation
Postpones our planned world domination;
Takeovers no longer seem to matter
When Junior's dancing on my bladder.
I'm not the only one who's itching;
David's done his share of bitching.
(Certain *things* are put on hold
Until the baby's six weeks old.)
Can our marriage survive this kid?
I know I'm close to blowing my lid,
And peeved at *all* the masculine sex.
I can see why Demona would knock off her ex.
Owen, our ever loyal friend,
Is going to shoot me if I send
Him on another craving run.
It's not my fault my little son
Wants peanut butter on pickled beets
(And more disgusting things to eat).
Mom says this is all the norm,
That she was like me before I was born.
Sometimes I wonder, what will it be like
To bring to our castle a new little tyke?
Will I be a good mom? He a good dad?
The baby will have all that we ever had,
And more, like this new rocking horse
(Bought from FAO Schwartz, of course!).
I'll tell our kid stories of gargoyles and tailors,
Of cabbages, kings, and shipwrecked young sailors,
And ... Wait! There it is! A definite pull!
I have to stay calm and not lose my cool.
Get David, get Owen, and get in the car;
Thank goodness the hospital isn't too far!
In no time flat, this will all be fixed ...
Oh shoot! It's only Braxton-Hicks.
***
Fox's Lament
by Merlin Missy
mtgat@aol.com
Copyright 1996, 2000
***
to Ms. Christine Faltz
I think that I shall never see
A longer time than pregnancy.
My no-no list is long and far;
I'd kill to have a Hershey Bar.
Lamaze class is a royal bore
With bodyguards standing at the door.
Handgliding? Please don't think me crude,
But, aerodynamically, I'm screwed.
I look like a whale, my back is sore,
Parts of me jiggle that didn't before.
My hands are cold, my ankles swell,
My muscles ache: I am in hell.
Hormones are another thing:
My nerves are hanging by a string,
And then, teardrops, like summer rain,
Pour for "Pinky and the Brain."
As you might expect, this aggravation
Postpones our planned world domination;
Takeovers no longer seem to matter
When Junior's dancing on my bladder.
I'm not the only one who's itching;
David's done his share of bitching.
(Certain *things* are put on hold
Until the baby's six weeks old.)
Can our marriage survive this kid?
I know I'm close to blowing my lid,
And peeved at *all* the masculine sex.
I can see why Demona would knock off her ex.
Owen, our ever loyal friend,
Is going to shoot me if I send
Him on another craving run.
It's not my fault my little son
Wants peanut butter on pickled beets
(And more disgusting things to eat).
Mom says this is all the norm,
That she was like me before I was born.
Sometimes I wonder, what will it be like
To bring to our castle a new little tyke?
Will I be a good mom? He a good dad?
The baby will have all that we ever had,
And more, like this new rocking horse
(Bought from FAO Schwartz, of course!).
I'll tell our kid stories of gargoyles and tailors,
Of cabbages, kings, and shipwrecked young sailors,
And ... Wait! There it is! A definite pull!
I have to stay calm and not lose my cool.
Get David, get Owen, and get in the car;
Thank goodness the hospital isn't too far!
In no time flat, this will all be fixed ...
Oh shoot! It's only Braxton-Hicks.
***