Two lines a stick, oh wow look at that
I’m going to be a mum, I hope I’m good at that
Off to the doctor to see what happens next
Booked in for a scan and plenty of tests
The weeks pass along as baby “Parry” grows inside
The nausea sets in, we’re in for a wild ride
And then it starts: Don’t eat that, here take this pill
You are just a vessel for the baby to fill
A vessel for the baby to fill. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Another procedure, another test, another scan
Do what the experts say, what a fucking great plan
The stress becomes greater the more my tummy grows
I just didn’t realise that I could say no
I could say no if I wanted and do as I liked
I could say no if I wanted but they had me psyched
For how could I say yes or perhaps or no
How could I express my choice when THEY run the show?
I have no autonomy, my body is not mine
It belongs to the baby and the hospital and the doctors and people think that’s fine
For I am just a vessel, my job is to incubate
To do as I’m told and for them to manipulate
“Just think of the baby”, always do this
“What happens to you we will easily dismiss”
For you are just a vessel, just a baby incubator
You must follow the rules set down by the hospital administrator
But here is the problem with which I wrestle,
I AM more than a uterus and I’m NOT just a vessel
This is a vessel. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
I’m a person you see, look at ME
How can I be a mother if you won’t let me be?
If I am just a vessel, then what will I be?
Once my baby is born will I be empty?
Or will I simply cease to exist?
And once I am gone will I be missed?
Or will somebody see before it’s too late
That I’m not just a vessel, that I do more than incubate?
I am Lizzie, I exist, my body belongs to me not the baby so precious
I am here, I am a whole woman, not just a vessel, not just a uterus