An Eloquent Suggestion

Being nine day past my due date, I find myself besieged daily with the incredulous comment from friends, "no baby yet?" The answer is obvious. No. I'm still pregnant. I often wish those asking would take counsel from our friend Cyrano de Bergerac before falling prey to such an uninspired question.

Cyrano, a jovial literary figure, was forever plagued by the public with asinine comments about the obscene length of his nose. I have, therefore, taken the liberty of grafting my own retorts into playwright Edmond Rostand's famous monologue which Cyrano gave in response to a Viscount's stale insult that his nose was "big." My revisions are in blue.


"No baby yet?"

Me: Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short!
You might have said at least a hundred things
By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . .

Aggressive: Do I need to dig it out of you myself?

Friendly: Would it help if I put my foot here and pushed?

Descriptive: Your uterus...it's so...womby...

Curious: What's it like having an 8 pound midget Eskimo-kissing your bladder?

Gracious: You don't mind if I dry my bedsheets on your belly, do you?

Truculent: How many babies did you eat for lunch?

Considerate: I'm so sorry you're two weeks overdue. Please kick me until you feel better.

Tender: My poor child. I'd give you a hug but I fear my arms can't reach around you.

Pedantic: The pachyderm gains nearly half a ton of weight during pregnancy - but you already
knew that, didn't you. Have a peanut.

Cavalier: I assume it's too late to decree celibacy?

Emphatic: You've never looked worse. Never.

Dramatic: Swear to me you won't go to the beach this week. A blood oath!

Admiring: When I grow up and fall in love can I utterly destroy my perfect figure too?

Lyric: The lady doth consume too much, methinks.

Simple: What's the mortgage on that thing?

Rustic: Golly sugar, you done got yourself knocked up good!

Military: She's gonna' blow!

Practical: If you get any bigger the baby will give birth to you.

Or. . .parodying Pyramus' sighs. . . so this is what "happily ever after means..."

—Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said,
Had you of wit or letters the least jot:
But, O most lamentable man!—of wit
You never had an atom, and of letters
You have three letters only!—they spell Ass!

This post is dedicated to the genius of Edmond Rostand who penned the play "Cyrano de Bergerac," my forever favorite piece of literature. And to all mother elephants.