She walks parading her lump.
A whale with full frontal ****.
Her child is breech.
She is so concerned.
He is due to enter with grace, so shortly.
In anticipation, she sits and waits and waits and sits.
Complaints of a niggling back and full wriggling belly.
She thinks she's understanding childbirth, as she's seen it on the telly.
Hate to leave her distorted by her own beliefs, in a crystal palace, sparkling sweetly in baby scented fluffy dreams.
(c) Livvi