It's My Baby (to the tune of "It's My Party")
It's my baby, and I'll kill it if I want to
Kill it if I want to, kill it if I want to
You would kill it too
if pregnancy was forced on you
It's my baby, and I'll kill it if I want to
Kill it if I want to, kill it if I want to
You would kill it too
if pregnancy was forced on you
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?