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Dr. Seuss and Pregnancy

Ted Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss.

Well, March 2nd is right around the corner. And guess what that day is? The birthday of the late, great Ted Geisel. Who’s Ted Geisel, you ask? Why, Dr. Seuss, of course. Did you know that his legendary book, Green Eggs and Ham has only 50 different words in it?

How cool is that? So brilliant. To honor Dr. Seuss and his brilliance, I’ve decided to write a Cat-in-the-Hat-style poem about pregnancy. Only unlike Dr. Seuss, I won’t limit the number of words I’ll use.

But I will stick to the theme, which, essentially, is one character pestering another. But instead of Sam-I-am, the character will be called Dad-I-be. And instead of green eggs and ham, Dad-I-be’s pestering will center around pregnancy. My wife’s responses to Dad-I-be are in italics.

Oh, and by the way, gimme a break on the the Dad-I-be deal. Dad-I-am doesn’t rhyme with pregnancy. Okay. Here goes:

Your Pregnancy

I be Dad.

I be Dad.
Dad-I-be.

That Dad-I-be. That Dad-I-be
He frustrates me, that Dad-I-be.

So, is it fun, your pregnancy?

Why, no, it’s not fun, Dad-I-be.
It’s not so fun, my pregnancy.

Would it be fun here or there?

It would not be fun, here or there.
It would not be fun anywhere.

Would it be fun in a house?
Would it be fun with a mouse?

You just compared me to a house?
And how disgusting — with a mouse?
It would not be fun, here or there.
It would not be fun anywhere.
It’s not so fun, my pregnancy.
Why, no it’s not fun, Dad-I-be.

Would it be fun in a box?
Would it be fun with a fox?

Don’t touch my box.
And who’s
a fox?
And don’t compare me to a house!
And how disgusting — with a mouse?
It would not be fun, here or there.
It would not be fun anywhere.
It’s so not fun, my pregnancy.
Why, no it’s not fun, Dad-I-be.

You will have fun. You will see.
Would it be fun in a tree?

It would not be fun in a tree.
Go fly a kite and let me be!
Now, like I said, don’t touch my box.
And please don’t call that girl a fox.
And don’t compare me to a house!
And how disgusting? With a mouse?
It would not be fun, here or there.
It would not be fun anywhere.
It’s not so fun, my pregnancy.
Why, no it’s not fun, Dad-I-be.

A train! A train! A train! A train!
Would it be fun on a train?

Refrain, you pain! Not on a train.
Nor in a tree, now let me be.
And double goes about my box.
And don’t you call that girl a fox.
And you’re the one who’s got a “mouse.”
And don’t compare me to a house.
It would not be fun, here or there.
It would not be fun anywhere.

Would it be fun in the rain?

It would not be fun in the rain.
Nor in a tree. Nor on a train.
I’m not a house. Don’t touch my box.
Not with your mouse. Go chase your “fox.”
It would not be fun here or there.
It would not be fun anywhere.

So it’s no fun, your pregnancy?

Why, no it’s not fun, Dad-I-be.

Would it be fun with a goat?
Would it be fun on a boat?

I’d just feel sicker on a boat.
But sicker, still, if with a goat. (WTF?)
It would not be fun in the rain.
It would not be fun on a train.
Nor in a tree! Now let me be!
And don’t you try to touch my box.
You want some action? Call that “fox.”
But don’t you dare call me a house.
Just run along. And take your mouse.
It would not be fun here or there.
It would not be fun ANYWHERE!
It’s not so fun, my pregnancy!
Why, no it’s not fun, Dad-I-be.

If it’s no fun, your pregnancy,
Would it be fun if it were me?

Although it’s not fun, Dad-I-be,
What might be fun? Your pregnancy.

Should I? Should I? Be with child?
Could I be so fair and mild?

You would not, could not, be with child.
You’re far too rough and far too wild.

I think you’re wrong. I could, you see,
Survive a 9-month pregnancy.

You could not handle pregnancy.
Because you’re such a wuss, you see.
Just something simple, like the flu?
It wrecks your world and floors you, Boo.
You lounge around pathetically.
And totally depend on me.
And not sure how to say this dear,
But there’s no way you’d give up beer.

Whoa, now, sweetheart. Kinda harsh.
You paint me out like just a farce.

You call it what you like, my dear.
But you could never know the fear
That something tender, precious, mere,
Is yours and yours alone to rear.
It’s awfully cute to hear your thoughts
Between your bites of tater tots.
I’d love to let you play pretend.
But your domain’s the grill, my friend.

So, it’s not fun, your pregnancy?

Why, no, it’s not fun, Dad-I-be.
Though I’m not sure it’s ‘sposed to be.
So run along and be a dream.
And don’t come back without ice cream.

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