Diary of a Pregnant Woman
by: KK
Copyright @2001

Three weeks. The popsicle stick says we are having a baby! My darling husband and I are thrilled beyond words! So much planning to do, maternity clothes, baby clothes, decorating...shit this is going to be expensive. But nothing is too good for our little angel! This will be the most beautiful and natural experience ever. Healthy food and exercise and we will have the baby of our dreams.

Second month. I have devoured every baby book and have soaked up all the wonderful stories my friends have told me about their pregnancies. I'm a strong woman and can handle a little nausea and will relish my beautiful belly as it grows. I can't wait to wear maternity clothes and announce to the world that we are having a baby! This will be a fabulous bonding experience for my darling husband and I.

Second month, one day. Did you know that the hole in the bottom of the toilet is 2 1/2 inches wide? My chin has been resting on the toilet seat for the entire day. In between vomit sessions I have been measuring the different circumferences of the toilet. The seat, the lid, the bowl....

Third month. I am quite certain that all of my internal organs have been regurgitated and are floating through the local sewer system, including the child. The beast that impregnated me pokes his head through the door every few minutes.

"Do you need anything sweetheart? Are you alright?" I mumble a weak response and feel the echo of the toilet bowl bounce off my head. If I had the strength, I would tie his penis in a knot and force him to pee. He really needs to feel my pain.

Fourth month. Whew! I made it through the hard part and I lived to tell about it. I'm off to my yoga and Lamaze classes. I have to learn how to breathe properly and relax. I wouldn't want my sweet infant to go through any stress. It should be a beautiful and natural experience. A water delivery might be an option.

Fifth month. Mobility is becoming limited and squeezing into small spaces, like the kitchen is becoming awkward. We had the ultrasound today and I must say that this child is not cooperating. The little shit waved with one hand and had the other hand over its crotch. I was not amused and when the doctor poked my stomach to make the baby move....the brat mooned us. This kid obviously has issues.

Sixth month. I will eat anything that doesn't move. If it does move I'll hunt it down and kill it. Which reminds me I haven't seen the cat for awhile. I'm sure it had nothing to do with me chasing it down with a steak knife a bottle of ketchup. I had a small emergency at yoga class. The fire department had to use the jaws of life to rescue me from my downward facing dog position. They suggested that I remain upright for the rest of my pregnancy. I'm suing the Lamaze instructor because I hyperventilated five times and had to be resuscitated once. They told me I was an insurance risk and would I please not return to class. The coach was a sadist anyway and even admitted that the only birth she coached was a litter of hamsters.

Seventh month. The scale ran from the bathroom screaming today. The doctor suggested that I might be putting on a little too much weight. I suggested that he keep his opinions to himself or that harm might come to his family. This road map of stretch marks that are etching themselves all over my body are leaving imprints on my sheets. Sperm donor thought it would be funny if I rolled in wet cement and imprinted my stretch marks. His life will be cut short. Another ultrasound. The juvenile delinquent flipped us off, grabbed his penis and lassoed my bladder. No doubt about it. He's hung like the neighbor... I mean like his daddy.

Eighth month. Our sweet little delinquent has made a career choice. Irish dancing, with a twist of gymnastics. He prefers to do this as soon as I am in deep REM sleep. He has not so gently rearranged my organs to suit his own needs and has now planted himself under my ribcage. At least he's getting used to being behind bars.

Sperm donor is highly entertained when his well hung kid kicks. Future football player, he says proudly. Too bad sperm donor won't live long enough to see the brat make a goal. I swear officer, I didn't mean to stab him when he told me that being pregnant was easy and that I should quit complaining.

Ninth month. I checked the calendar...it's time. He has crammed his head between my lungs and is practicing his boxing techniques. Clearly the child is not following the light at the end of the tunnel. I even illuminated the exit of the tunnel with a flashlight in case he has vision problems. I let the St. Bernard sit on my stomach to push him into the birth canal. The delinquent bruised the dogs ass. I have walked, jumped, rolled, had upright sex and even chased the ball for the dog. Not even a cramp. I swear I heard him laugh...he will be punished.

Two weeks late. I am quite sure that he is a toddler by now.

Two weeks and two days LATE... Niagra Falls produces less water than what flooded out of my body. Thanks for ruining the carpet and the mattress, you little brat. I will be deducting that from your allowance.

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