It is my fourth and final pregnancy. – No more kids for me!
And if I’m really honest. – Well, I should have stopped at three.
I’ve been pregnant every year now – with few months in between,
I look and feel repulsive. I’m knackered, I’m obscene.
I’ve grown stretch marks, in strange places. My udders need attention
My body’s changing everyday and there’s things I cannot mention
My pelvic floor’s in pelvic war – I cannot hardly walk,
And you will get no sense from me – I like a baby talk.
My hair has gone all frizzy – what hasn’t fallen out,
There isn’t that much left of me – or what I was about,
I am not now a woman – I’ve been reborn as a mother.
Gone are the days, when in bed we’d laze, and focus on each other.
There’s nappies to change, and babies to feed
There’s shopping to buy and things that we need
There’s demands all the time and they have to be met
There’s so much to do and so much to get.
Yet, four is what we wanted, but four is where we’ll stop,
Cos on this coming Friday; he is booked in for the chop!