So people sez, “How are you Abez?”
And I sez, “Alhamdulillah, nine months pregnant.”
Nine months pregnant.
Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it- especially with the nine being emphasized to ummm, emphasize that you could go -pop!- at any given moment. Nine Months Pregnant is an explanation unto itself, and if you’ve been there yourself, you nod sympathetically. You think of how the floor is always farther away when there’s something on it you need, and how your shoelaces are always untied but never within reach, and how automatically you get programmed with politically correct responses to people’s questions.
People sez, “How is the baby?”
And I sez, “Good, Alhamdulillah.”
And if you’ve had one yourself, you automatically know that the baby is running out of room and protests your constrictive political regime by poking his toes into your lungs and wiggling them for emphasis. The baby wants freedom, and makes this very clear by undertaking a dedicated campaign based on civil disobedience
(No, we will not remove our elbow from your spleen until you comply with our peaceful demands.)
Of course, civil disobedience can only take things so far, and sometimes your baby will resort to outright violence.
People sez, “You must be excited.”
I sez, “I am.”
I am excited, and sometimes when my back is aching and my feet are killing me and my joints are audibly creaking under the strain of an extra human + support system, I imagine holding my baby in my hands for the first time and everything- the impatience, the exhaustion, the emotional erosion caused by not feeling like myself for the last nine months- disappears. It all fades and is replaced with a nervous happiness- an impatient, excited, lightness that inevitably brings tears to my eyes.
My baby will be here soon, InshaAllah. 🙂