I Like the Way You Move

Except, you know, not always. A few times a day to let me know you’re digging your bachelor pad is good. The little kicks that let me know I’m eating something you like are totally okay. The Tasmanian devil tornadoes are not necessary.

Slooooowww dowwwwn. Enjoy your bubble time and the safety of your inner world. Fighting to get out is not helping either of us. You’re not fully baked and I am not the slightest bit prepared.

And for the love of all things, in the meantime, stop punching my duodenum.

I am constantly terrified to look down. I can sometimes see you pop and lock out of the corner of my eye and it seriously disturbs me. I have taken to wearing scarves to cover it up and have come to terms with the fact that my shoes are probably mismatched half the time. BECAUSE I AM AFRAID OF LOOKING DOWN AND SEEING YOUR ARM WAVE FROM MY BELLY BUTTON. My stomach should not look like it has a mind of it’s own. Even though I guess it sort of does at this point.

At night, I am afraid to lift the covers, lest I see a spotlight, red carpet, velvet ropes and a meathead with a clipboard. It certainly feels like you sent out an e-vite to all of your underground fetal friends to come have a rave in my uterus. I hope you’re saving the money you’re making on cover charge, because you owe me. And you better be cleaning up all the red Solo cups. I don’t want to try and explain THAT to my OB upon delivery.

And the kick to the lungs last week that knocked the wind outta me? Could have slept better without that little interruption.

Not to mention, did you sprout like six additional limbs since the January ultrasound? Because I cannot figure out how you can be in 19 places at once, jabbing every square inch at the same time with what feels like a massive amount of appendages.

And that weird scrape you did from left to right the other day? Probably with creepy finger? Yeah, you can just knock that move the %^&# off. The sensation of it was bad enough, but then I pictured you writing out REDRUM and well, now you’re really freaking me the %$@^ out.

A PEEK INSIDE MY UTERUS (artist rendition)