The Funniest Pregnancy Tees

I’ve been a bit …down about my pregnancy. A few readers have suggested I might get over it since, after all, nearly four months of nausea isn’t so bad. Limited breathing’s doable. Constant exhaustion is par for the course.

Yep; they’re right. I need to focus on happier subjects.

As such, today’s thought-provoking post is all about some light-hearted retail therapy. The best part? None of us need get off the couch, bed, chair, or psychiatrist’s sofa to shop!

I give you: my favorite funny pregnancy t-shirts on Amazon.

#1 You’re kickin’ me smalls

kicking me smalls.PNGIf you’re scratching your head, the caption is a pun based off an oft-spoken reprimand from a character in the film Sandlot.

#2 Ice Ice Baby

ice ice babyI hope most know this reference.

#3 Does this Baby make me look fat?

does this babyWell, does it?

#4 Kick me baby one more time

kick me baby.PNGPoor Britney Spears. At least her song makes for another great pun.

#5 The baby made me eat it

baby made me eat it.PNGOver and over and over and over…

#6 That’s no moon

that's no moon.PNGIt’s not even a spaceport. It’s a parasite. We must be cautious.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this side trip down Humorous Pregnancy Tees Lane. If these funny pregnancy t-shirts weren’t up your alley, I’m sure they have plenty more where those came from…

This week’s question? Can you guess which one I purchased?

—————-

Here’s all what I wrote the last little while:
Wednesday, August 7: Recommended a few of my favorite motivational songs in “Five Songs to Kick Your Confidence in the Rear.”

Thursday, August 8: “A Tribute to Masercot,” one of the more interesting bloggers I follow.

Friday, August 9: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Deb!

Saturday, August 10: Announced the 38th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is plot twists, JUDGED BY Bruce Goodman. The deadline is 11:59 p.m. MST Thursday! That’s tomorrow night! PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, August 11: “Those Who Knew Her,” in response to Kristian‘s quote and photo prompt.

The Apple,” in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt.

Monday, August 12: An inspirational quote by Robert C. Stroud, from his blog Mere Inklings.

Tuesday, August 13: “Wilhelmina Winters, One Hundred.” I gotta tie that series up.

Wednesday, August 14: Today.

I also posted all this week at my motherhood site. I wrote “Books Around the House,” “What to Expect When You Tell People You’re Expecting a C-Section,” and “A Bedtime Limerick.”

 

Photo Credit: Amazon

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Summer Days Ain’t Lazy at All

I realized that somewhere near …July June 25 I became lost in life and was not able to keep up with my regular blog reading. Instead of conceding defeat, I kept telling myself I would catch up. The same happened with writing my own posts. In fact; the same happened with the housework, meal plans, summer schedules, vacation plans, homework, etc.

I should have just closed shop for the summer.

The main problem has been my children, both those out of me and the one in me. I’ve had enough on my plate trying to motivate and manage myself. After First Bathroom stop, First Breakfast, Second Bathroom Stop, Second Breakfast, and showering; the day’s nearly half over and I realize I ought to get the boys out of bed and doing activities.

For their part, they’re just fine sleeping in and playing all day. I’d be fine with that, too, if it weren’t for the dishes’ habit of piling up when The Magic Fairy doesn’t wash them. That lazy Fairy’s neglected everything from yard work to laundry to budgeting since I became impregnated.

It’s like she’s hoping to get fired or something.

So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not posting regularly. I’m sorry for not reading regularly. I’m sorry for how boring I’ve been, complaining about a situation that SUCKS BECAUSE I’VE BEEN CONSTANTLY SICK SINCE MID-APRIL.

My creativity is shot. It’s lying on the ground with several empty bags of snack food and the remains of the clothing that I can’t wear anymore. And curled up on the pile by 1:00 p.m. every day is my current energy level.

I think I’m dreaming of about a year from now…

—————-

Still, I kind-of wrote stuff this past week:
Wednesday, July 17: “Frilled Shark, a terrible poem.”

Thursday, July 18: “The Strangest Pregnant Animal Ever.” This was the last in a series of pregnant animal poems, in tribute to the Terrible Poetry theme for that week.

Friday, July 19: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Peregrine Arc!

Saturday, July 20: Announced the 35th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is a limerick of poets who take themselves way too seriously. PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, July 21: Answered Kevin’s questions with “Sunshine, Lollipops, and Blogger ‘Awards.'”

Monday, July 22: An inspirational quote from Kira’s site.

Tuesday, July 23: Nothing!

Wednesday, July 24: Today. Happy Pioneer Day from my home state.

I also posted all this week at my motherhood site. I wrote “Stop and Smell the Bindweed,” “Everyone Needs to Get Messy, Especially Kids,” and “A Parent’s Poetic Lament.”

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

After a long day with a headache (thanks, human pregnancy), I’ve rock-paper-scissored a winner from my final choices.

And that winner is Peregrine Arc.

The Hallmark of Irony: An Elephant’s Tale

by Peregrine Arc

Here’s a card just for you
For 22 months, I’ve had spew
All over the savannah after every meal
Two hundred pounds sitting on my bladder for almost two years
Growing by the day and your father asks me
Dearest pachyderm-a-booble, whatsoever’s the matter, my dear little poodle?
Chin up, dear lady, this won’t last forever.
The labour pains will only last two nights, no matter.

So dearest child when you’re born,
If you ever wonder why your father walks with a limp–
It’s because I sat on him
To make him suffer for being a nitwit.

Congratulations, Madame Arc! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

Almost all of the entries went above and beyond the criteria: horrible, educational, interesting, and painful to read. P’Arc’s contribution did all that, plus garnered the promised bonus points for trying to make hers more like a Hallmark card. Maybe it’s my current pregnancy speaking, but I especially appreciated the elephant daddy getting a bit of payback in the end.

Meanwhile, National Geographic may want to get in touch with the other fabulous poets:

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

Pregnancy is wearing,
As I’m sure you know,
But not if you’re a Surinam toad,
For guess where their babes grow.
If you said on their back,
You would be halfway right.
If you said the male digs holes
To stash the eggs in you’ve seen the light.
In a 12 hour mating ritual,
He buries those babes deep,
Then the skin grows back,
It’s enough to give me the creeps.
Four and a half months later,
The babes emerge,
Momma Surinam toad must sure shriek,
And lament her maternal urge.

—–

A Tale of Two Widows

by Mathew S

Two arachnids met eyes across a room
All eight pairs of eyes made contact in fact
That bulbous rump had made males swoon
Those long legs called out for contact

Mmmm mmmmm yum yum yum
He thought, what a night of ecstasy
We sure will get us much of some
They lay there tangled plain to see

Dreaming up their spider plans
They spoke to make a web for both of thee
He was arachnid putty in her hands
She hissed, “you’ll always be a part of me”

He thought he knew just what she meant
Like newly webs, not you or I, but we!
After sticky reproduction, hungry and so spent,
He attempted to leave the web sheepishly

But was asked to stay for dinner
To which he agreed, but feels remorse
Since he’s digesting in her innards
As her web-of-lies main course

—–

The lamentation of a girl guppy

by Bruce Goodman

Because you’re the male you’re smaller than me
And that’s because I’m a female guppy.
I don’t lay eggs, I’m a live-bearer,
And I don’t believe I could possibly say that any clearer.

Well you might laugh at my girth,
But that’s because I haven’t as yet given birth
I’m a good couple of months old
And when you were seven weeks old I wish you hadn’t been so bold.

Even when expecting, females prefer new males prettier than hubby
And frequently change who the father is going to be of their bubby.
Basically we guppies are the epitome of immortality
And that’s what happens when one practises polyandry.

So to sum up, if I see a boy guppy who’s dashing
I get quite overcome with passion.
But I ask you, do you think it is fair
That I’m already into my fifth pregnancy this year?

—–

From Here Two Maternity

by LWBUT

If you are lying in bed postprandially wondering

what you can Google here’s an example i’ve been pondering –

The female kangaroo of Australia

has quite the most remarkable genitalia.

Although it is a mammal, whose species mostly possess a single uterus,

the kangaroo has developed a reproductive system that is really quite new to us,

in that she has evolved double our number of internal cavities

in which to incubate the future prospective progeny of her species.

In two uteri her eggs can be fertilised in parallel, growing two joeys at a time

And what is an even greater puzzle, going from the ridiculous to the sublime,

is that though she exceeds the number of egg-hatching chambers by one over us

her vaginas exceed even that by a half again of the surprising number of uterus

making a final tally, some might find a tad hard to believe,

of kangaroo uteri: two, while kangaroo vaginas are in total, three!

While to some this may cause a concern at the possibility of colliding despatches

Our kangaroo has yet another surprise in the way that her offspring hatches;

the kangaroo has the unique ability to suspend one of her two embryo ‘in situ’

While the other makes good his escape before deciding what he is to do,

to go outside and crawl up to the pouch, if i’m not mistaken?

or crawl back up inside and hope his room has not yet been taken.

While from egg to escaping the womb will take a little joey about a month or more

the young ‘roo will remain in mum’s pouch for another eight, by which time she’s sure to be sore.

Once her young joey has been thus evicted

mum’s familial duties are no less restricted

She will continue to raise him, teaching him how to fend

for himself until his sibling brings her patience to an end.

So with two uteri, a female kangaroo in her maternity

can seemingly be pregnant from here to eternity.

—–

Self Satisfaction–Oh to be like thee, Komodo the Lizard

by Ruth Scribbles

Parthenogenesis
Genesis, the beginning
Beginning of self-impregnating
Impregnating self
Self reliance
Reliance on moi
Moi and tu
Tu, no not you
Me and only me
Self satisfaction
Or
Self destruction
Destruction of needing
Needing anyone
Anyone will do?
No only you
Oops.. just kidding
I want to procreate
Like the dragon of komodo
Now, that’s self satisfying!

—–

You Need a New Mom

by Angela Duggins

All through the night, in my dreams,
I hear you. I feel you.
deciding that you want to be born.
You will grow up someday.
I’ll push you out some way.
Now is time to break through my pores.

You’re here. My death I now fear.
I believe that you need a new mom.
Please stay. Your birth is my decay,
and I know that you need a new mom.

Keep moving on.

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

When the Giraffe gives birth the baby falls to the ground
But luckily the calves are not hurt they seem to rebound
Lucky female seahorses as the males are the ones who give birth
I wonder how that effects the dads and their much prized girth
A chipmunk can give birth every forty five days
That’s enough to make Alvin stop singing and go into a daze
Opossums are quick they only gestate for fourteen days
Pressure on the males as it’s an even quicker menstrual phase
Humans are so much slower yet no less Herculean
That all makes the our pregnancy rather antediluvian

—–

Thank you so much for putting me through this misery! Tune in tomorrow around 10 a.m. MST for the announcement of next week’s contest.

joshua-j-cotten-w-DHG2su6gU-unsplash

P’Arc: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:

The Strangest Pregnant Animal Ever, a poem

From curly hair to larger feet
And drooling, dozing, sniffling snores;

From skin tags, spots, and extra heat
And sudden change to teenage pores;

From stomach smashed and bladder squished
And nausea any time awake;

From snacks on which one must subsist
And baths that one must never take;

From ever-spreading stretch mark lines
And complications ev’ry term;

From husband flirts one must decline…

 

You wish you’d never seen That Sperm!

Frilled Shark, a terrible poem

Come with me
To the sea
Where it’s very cold
And wet
And blue
And also deep, fathomless, really dark, dark, black, maybe deep blue, some people say it’s green, others with no color perception call the water purple, and deep
Oh, and it’s cold
So
That is why
I’d die
So high
If I were
A frilled shark

Also I’d die because they carry their babies for 3.5 years.

Frilled Shark

Photo from Wikipedia Commons, ©OpenCage

 

That’s pretty much it.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

From Baby Giraffe, a terrible poem

Mummy dear and tall:

I know you love me,

But why did I fall?

Why did I walk once dumped from six feet off the ground

Within the sixty minutes of my entry to this Earth that’s brown and round but not very sound?

(Because I hadn’t walked for 453 to 464 days.)

Yes, that’s why the ground was not very sound;

Though I made a sound when I landed on the dirt

‘ Cause it hurt.

Next time I thank

I’d rather have a doctor’s spank.

lisa-h-gOWuRBY7gDM-unsplash

Giraffes have a gestation period of about 15 months, then the baby giraffe falls from his standing mother’s birth canal. It’s a drop of five or six feet. This helps break the umbilical cord and amniotic sac, plus avoid being sat upon by a long-limbed mother.

The babies recover quickly and are ready to walk by the time an hour’s passed.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Octopussy, a terrible poem

My darling, sumptuous, suctioned
Model of a mop head mother
Take my arm
No, not that one
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor that
Nor -wait! There’s the one;
Take it, my Hun,
Hardly knowing how much I love you
My dear
It’s clear
You’ll store the future like a forty-day fridge,
Including my present; though, of me, it’s just a smidge.
Then, hang our darling hybrids round the rocks
It’s Christmas in our summer sea!
Just you and me –
Except, not me.
For, you see
It cannot be.
It’s not you, it’s m- the babies!

masaaki-komori-Lu9z9qS8I_Q-unsplash

The male octopus uses a special arm to remove his sperm packet, then place it inside the female octopus. After storing the eggs and sperm for a while (forty days for one species), she hangs the eggs from rocks and crevices and wipes them with her mate’s present.

For some reason, the male dies within 3 days of reproducing. The female dies a month after delivering her babies.

Photo Credit:
Masaaki Komori

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! This is our 34th time of offending the internet and I hope we continue to disappoint.

As those who’ve entered before know, writing terrible poetry is an art form. To truly offend one’s sensibilities; a bad poet needs to nearly fit a meter, almost follow a rhythmic pattern, or get so close to a beautiful description his audience starts picturing EXIT signs instead of snow falling gently in a springtime field. I explain the process a bit here.

Besides that, here are this week’s specifics:

  1. Topic: Animals and their pregnancy.
    Did you know the African Bush Elephant carries …well, an elephant for 22 months? That a male seahorse carries the babies (up to 1,500!)? Or that female Komodo Dragons can impregnate themselves without a male through a process called parthenogenesis?
    Did you know you’re going to write a poem about it?
  2. Just to make it more fun, I’d like the Length to be about Hallmark Valentine’s Day card-sized. Bonus points if you actually write it like a Hallmark Valentine’s Day card.
  3. Rhyme? It’s up to you.
  4. Mostly, just make it terrible. Whilst composing your note of affection, a pregnant elephant all the way across the ocean needs to raise its head from the water hole toilet and vow to spend its next 21 months making its way to your house…
  5. do know where babies come from; but if National Geographic can keep things clinical, I think our usual PG rating will suffice.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (July 19) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

Or, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

joshua-j-cotten-w-DHG2su6gU-unsplash

Photo credit:
Joshua J. Cotten

Another Pregnancy Announcement

I’m about 16 weeks along in my pregnancy. As such, the doctor offered a quick ultrasound peek to see whether a couple of dresses or a few more black eyes were in our future.

Welp:

It’s a boy! Our new baby shower balloon hoops! Place on the cake table, next to the presents or use as a photo prop! …

It’s another boy. Number five. If half our kids had a higher potential height, we’d have a basketball team.

So far, they seem bent on Lord of the Flies mixed with Hunger Games -but- that’s childhood, right?

I’m up and past bleeding but still have “morning” sickness all day, every day. The baby’s heart rate and measurements look great every time. For now, we’re expecting him to be surgically removed from my abdominal cavity near the start of December.