Sep 2010
Was it worth it?
Only 3 weeks old and I have a name.
Embryo.
Week 4 I’m hard at work creating my umbilical cord and basics of my body. By the end of this week I’m the size of the period at the end of this sentence.
Not the one you just missed.
Week 5: my heart is beating… you’re still drinking.
Week 7: you’re sick. And it’s not the hangover you thought I was.
Week 9: congratulations! You have the honor of hearing my heartbeat, like you care. You’re still on some strangers couch with the strong sent of smoke on your sweater.
I’m the size of the olive in your martini from this morning.
Week 10: New name. Fetus. I finally look somewhat human...My brain is trying to create 25,000 neurons every minute but you’re making it so hard mom…
Week 11: my vital organs are all there. So my risk of defects should be decreasing and become less susceptible to outside influences... so much for that
Your headache? That’s me. You still don’t know the pain I’m in...
Week 12: I can swallow. Good thing I’m not actually using my lungs. Unlike yourself. “Oh, just another drag... What’s the harm?” I guess you never learned the golden rule.
So here we are, week 21. I’m the size of your beer.
Two weeks later… My lungs aren’t ready... 11 ½” I weigh the size of the Harry Potter book I imagine you reading to me. And I am as long as one too. I hope you enjoyed all that sleep you have been able to have... I’m coming...
Child birth classes? Didn’t even cross your mind. And I’m losing more and more of mine. Just keep inhaling that precious smoke.
My brain looks like the mold in the back of your fridge.
I felt so alone before, but at least I was in my own space. Somewhat protected.
Well here I am, in this world already addicted.
You raised the stakes. So tell me mom,
was all that fun worth it?
Only 3 weeks old and I have a name.
Embryo.
Week 4 I’m hard at work creating my umbilical cord and basics of my body. By the end of this week I’m the size of the period at the end of this sentence.
Not the one you just missed.
Week 5: my heart is beating… you’re still drinking.
Week 7: you’re sick. And it’s not the hangover you thought I was.
Week 9: congratulations! You have the honor of hearing my heartbeat, like you care. You’re still on some strangers couch with the strong sent of smoke on your sweater.
I’m the size of the olive in your martini from this morning.
Week 10: New name. Fetus. I finally look somewhat human...My brain is trying to create 25,000 neurons every minute but you’re making it so hard mom…
Week 11: my vital organs are all there. So my risk of defects should be decreasing and become less susceptible to outside influences... so much for that
Your headache? That’s me. You still don’t know the pain I’m in...
Week 12: I can swallow. Good thing I’m not actually using my lungs. Unlike yourself. “Oh, just another drag... What’s the harm?” I guess you never learned the golden rule.
So here we are, week 21. I’m the size of your beer.
Two weeks later… My lungs aren’t ready... 11 ½” I weigh the size of the Harry Potter book I imagine you reading to me. And I am as long as one too. I hope you enjoyed all that sleep you have been able to have... I’m coming...
Child birth classes? Didn’t even cross your mind. And I’m losing more and more of mine. Just keep inhaling that precious smoke.
My brain looks like the mold in the back of your fridge.
I felt so alone before, but at least I was in my own space. Somewhat protected.
Well here I am, in this world already addicted.
You raised the stakes. So tell me mom,
was all that fun worth it?
