Can’t heft my waddling self to town
because my abdomen’s too round
the exclamation will resound
“She’s – got – to – pop!”
The thing no shrill onlooker knows
the way a peaceful labour goes
you melt like snow, tectonic slow
ain’t – no – “chop – chop”.
External forms are softened, blurred
colours blotch, sounds get misheard
and a string of clever words
stum – bles – head – long;
By now the pressure on the flesh
is causing twinges something spec-
ial and you lumber like a fresh-
ly – beached – du – gong.
Still this baby’s so serene
warming his toes against my spleen
upside-down he is, it seems,
le – vi – ta – ting;
And so I’ll tell those who opine
that my girth is saturnine
“I’m not post-date – we are just fine
me – di – ta – ting!”
(Three hours after writing this poem and posting it to my FB page I was in labour…and at 9am on March 11th Cavebaby the Third made his appearance!)
Cavemum 
Medina!!!! Mil felicidades de todo corazón..definitivamente tu baby estaba deseando de conocer a la jefa de su cueva 🙂 Many Salams. Suhaib
Salam Suhaib! El nene nació el día después de escribir este poesia – era lo que necesitaba hacer para animarle!! Ya tiene 10 dias, es un sol, alhamdulillah. Un abrazo muy fuerte, ya estas en Granada verdad? A ver si nos vemos cuando salgo de mi cuarentena =D