PREGNANCY POEM
I love my babies and loved that they were inside me. But, I was never one of those pregorexic LA moms strutting down the boulevard. I was in endless amorphous maxi dresses and Haviana flip flops.
These were my sentiments when I was knocked up with Eliana. It was my emotional purge. I was nauseated and bloated and gross.
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“Is it a boy or a girl? Congrats! Oh My!”
“You look so cute cuz you can’t zip your fly.”
Friends secretly ponder if I’m letting myself go.
Nope. I’m not, biaa. Just got dissed by Aunt Flo.
I ‘m supposed to be grateful for the insemination.
But grateful for zits and big tits and this nausea sensation?
Morning sickness isn’t just at pre-noon,
It lasts 24/7 and your trimester’s doomed.
Once you graduate from the 90th day…
The barfing subsides …but still no “hip hip hooray.”
Your glutes now extend about 8 feet behind you.
Like she who eats bon bons while glued to the tube.
People confuse me for Ice Cube’s Coco…
But I’m just a Korean chick craving El Pollo Loco.
I curl up and sigh as indigestion wreaks havoc….
Nothing is funny. Not Colbert nor Bob Saget.
As the day goes on.. everything swells.
The ego’s dragged down
In the way Jobs did to Dell.
I’m over this ludicrous water retention.
Can’t I have a small break? A 2 minute suspension?
Oh no! I can’t! 6 months to go!!
BUT, I’m dying to kick ass in Jun Chong’s dojo!
Simmer down with your opinions. You’re not the Dominon…
I’ll figure this out on my own…
Just let me cry and complain. About this wonderful gift.
I’ll be better when there’s no more hormones.
