Baby Bump Barbie // Mind The Bump

{A poem about the constant desire to hold my bump, with a Meghan Markle spin ðŸ¤°}

When Meghan announced her pregnancy, the world got to its feet
A touch more of that Markle Sparkle, being just what England needs
And as her bump grew bigger, we watched with baited breath
That is until our news channels, turned joy onto its head
‘Just look at how she cradles it, how contrived Meghan can be’
‘She’s acting like an actress now, does she think that we can’t see?’
‘She’s playing up to the cameras, it’s all to show up Kate’
‘Just who does she think she is, this woman we now hate?’

At home I sat and watched this, a new opinion formed
Could she not be holding on, with something close to warmth?
Or maybe Duchess Meghan, so out on the earth’s stage
Was protecting her small miracle, whilst in a fragile state
It’s hard enough being pregnant, judged each day all day
Without having to face huge crowds, that regard you with distaste
Was there fear of physical damage done, by someone in the swarm?
Were there risk we didn’t know, thanks to the media storm?
Or maybe baby responded well, to his mother’s nudge?
For all we know he kicked and rolled, each time she was stood up
I thought, so what her reasons, it’s not our concern
A pregnant woman’s actions, already judged at every turn
Personally, I understand her simple need to touch
Pressing hands against my bump, a near subconscious crutch
When I’m doing my kick counting, without the formal app*
(*It ramped up my anxiety, I have no time for that)
When trying to convey to him, that he’s my own big bang
When exchanging caring, loving words, in bed next to his dad
When out in public thinking ‘it would be easy to get hurt’
When the fear of strangers stood too close, puts me on high alert
For limbs placed right before him, create a barrier you see
And for all I have and all I am, I’d prefer danger befall me
I’m not saying I’m the same as her, for clearly that’s not true
For one if my prince came with chains, I don’t know what I’d do
But as a pregnant woman - vulnerable, unstuck
I do find myself asking ‘where is the sisterhood?’

So if we want to hold our bellies, or sing under our breath
Play our baby’s Mozart, or spend all day in bed
If we want to provide protection, in a world so harsh and cruel
And if we want to plan our birth’s, around a heated pool
Well then the general public, women especially
Should back off, go, and don’t look back, without something nice to say.

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