Being pregnant was really uplifting,
All rounded and smug "Mother Earth",
With my thoughts sort of dreamily drifting,
To the wonderful climax of birth.
When things started, I'd happily potter,
Each twinge braved with scarcely a quiver.
Once the pace speeded up and got hotter,
I'd prepare then to stand and deliver.
Well "stand"? Second thoughts maybe not.
There were plentiful options to ponder.
I could lie. I could kneel, I could squat.
I could simply continue to wander.
I could sit in a water-filled pool,
As the sun set and day became dusk.
Wafted scents in the air would be cool -
Maybe lavender, jasmine or musk.
I could crawl round upon hands and knees,
In the background, a tape of whales singing.
I could hang on a circus trapeze,
Alternately pushing and swinging.
As night deepened, a few candles glowing.
My partner there, equally stoic.
The pride in his face clearly showing,
As I coped - all serene and heroic.
But it's time now. As push comes to shove,
It hurts badly. I'm feeling quite sick.
And my wonderful "labour of love"
Has become, "Get it over with quick!"
Did I once think this one of life's pleasures?
All that beauteous stuff is for mugs.
What I want now (and not in half measures)
Are some extra-strong painkilling drugs.
All that planning no longer finds favour,
Though it probably works out for some
Who can find it a process to savour.
But not this particular mum!
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