A Weary Womb
                 




                   A Weary Womb thoughts and feelings stories
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usagi
usagi Socially awkward swamp witch.
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
So as you all know, I've been having a REALLY hard time with my pregnancy. So, in an attempt to release some of the pain, I wrote a poem about my experience with being pregnant and having HG. Read if you dare. :D

A Weary Womb

No one ever told me what pregnancy really meant.

I always thought it was

I always thought it was a bouncing bundle of joy at the end of a long nine months

I always thought it was a bouncing bundle of joy at the end of a long nine months sometimes you were uncomfortable,

I always thought it was a bouncing bundle of joy at the end of a long nine months sometimes you were uncomfortable, but mostly you were happy

I always thought it was a bouncing bundle of joy at the end of a long nine months sometimes you were uncomfortable, but mostly you were happy overjoyed even at the creaks in your joints and the little kicks assaulting your pelvis

but now I know,

It’s building a house out of prescriptions

It’s building a house out of prescriptions dancing with maracas made of pill sorters

It’s building a house out of prescriptions dancing with maracas made of pill sorters contorting pillows into 90 degree angles

It’s building a house out of prescriptions dancing with maracas made of pill sorters contorting pillows into 90 degree angles to create a padded cell curving around the sagging skin sliding off my clanking bones.

It's breathing fire like a dragon who hasn’t quite learned how to control the flames.

It's breathing fire like a dragon who hasn’t quite learned how to control the flames. Turning into a pumpkin long before midnight

It's breathing fire like a dragon who hasn’t quite learned how to control the flames. Turning into a pumpkin long before midnight and toes bursting out of glass slippers

transforming into a snapping turtle for every misplaced syllable uttered by anyone within biting distance.

It’s wishing on a star to trade this hound’s snout for a whale tale

but all the while fantasizing about ten tiny toes

but all the while fantasizing about ten tiny toes brown hair and baby blue eyes

but all the while fantasizing about ten tiny toes brown hair and baby blue eyes that look just like his,

but all the while fantasizing about ten tiny toes brown hair and baby blue eyes that look just like his, sleepless nights from accidental staring contests that end in giggles,

an ever growing library of silly books on dinosaurs eating tacos and dogs wearing tutus

and a million priceless moments yet to come.

Author's Note: Just so you all know, apparently whales don't have a sense of smell, at least not in the traditional sense (no olfactory sensors). I learned that today and wanted to include it in the poem lol

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