backup

Lyrics to the next rendition of backup, which will take place in two weeks from today: Knocked up. You've been knocked up. For 38 weeks. Knocked up.

Moody one minute. Elated the next. I'd think that your body were truly possessed.

There's no time to spare. Please grab a broom. And begin sweeping this entire room. 

Those filthy corners where dust collects, will just build to piles of ancient regrets.

That baby needs this house spic and span, so she doesn't fall ill like a sick old man. 

I know it's hard to muster up strength. With twice as much blood pumping through those veins. 

Knocked up. You've been knocked up. For 38 weeks. Knocked up.

Swollen ankles and ballooning breasts. These are the symptoms of your belly convex.

Open the fridge door. See what's inside. Away with moldy cheese and old cream pies. 

Caked on drips of mysterious ooze. Past due mayonnaise. A turned bottle of booze. 

Your baby asleep inside your cozy womb is in for a shock when you open that tomb.

Your shallow breath and sciatic nerve will go back to normal once you give birth.

Knocked up. You've been knocked up. For 38 weeks. Knocked up.

Clothes don't fit you like they did last spring. Thank god for mumus and invisible wings.

Dishes are stacked high. Plates, bowls and spoons. Empty the sink and make some room. 

It festers and reeks of last week's meals. Worse than the toilet, and that's for real. 

Soon your wee one will live here with you. She'll need to bathe in something cleaner than poo. 

Trips to the bathroom. Not enough rest. It'll all be worth it. It'll be the best.

Knocked up. You've been knocked up. For 38 weeks. Knocked up.

Exhaustion and ache. Vomit and cramps. Bad advice from strangers and giant underpants. 

Fretful nail biting and a deep furrowed brow. She'll be here in days. So close to now. 

Knocked up. You've been knocked up. For 38 weeks. Knocked up.