When my friend Michelle was pregnant with her daughter, the “entertainment” after her baby shower was watching in horror and fascination as the baby moved around in her stomach. Michelle was wearing a thin summer dress that was probably the same thickness as the belly skin that separated the baby from the outside world.
“There’s her foot,” Michelle said pointing to a tiny outline of a foot on the left side of her stomach. It was like watching an alien trying to escape a rubber sheath as the baby bump morphed from perfectly round to a flattened basketball with little identifiable appendages presenting themselves as if playing a game of “Guess what I am.”
Princess Piggy Poo reminds me of this indelible memory every time she digs her way into the front pouch pocket of my hooded sweatshirt and makes herself at home. The part that brings to mind Michelle’s baby shower is when Princess Piggy Poo repositions herself and my Piggy bump starts wiggling and the lumps shift until her head is where her pink feet used to be.
It would be a good deterrent to teen pregnancy if kids had to wear a guinea pig in their pocket for a time. Of course, real pregnancy is much more grueling but if you carry a guinea pig in your pocket long enough, in addition to getting a backache, it’s bound to poop and pee on you just like a human baby. Princess Piggy Poo finds my pocket so comforting, it almost takes forceps to pry her out, too.
I just found out Michelle is going to have a second baby. Maybe I’ll bring Princess Piggy Poo to the shower and we can entertain the guests with a pair of dancing bellies.