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# Bavarian Bull$h!+
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/bavarian-bullh/
- Published: 2026-06-17T15:37:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-06-17T15:37:00.000Z
- Description: “Bavarian Bull$h!+,” a memory of the unhinged things I learned while in a shared baby due date group in the 2010s. Written Wednesday, June 17, poem 168 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Dry Humor, Generational, Humor, Long form musings, Nostalgia, Petty, Poems, Rants, Unserious, Baby, Baby Mamas, Bavarian bulls, Complaining, CraigsList, Due Dates, Ghost, Internet, June, Kids, parenting, Play, Pregnancies, Pregnancy, Privileged, relationships, Rolls Royce, Support, Women, You Got This Mama!, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

Mandatory bed rest made me   
far too familiar   
with the ends of the Internet.  
Still, I stopped mid-scroll on the day   
I encountered a post   
in my Mama2Bee group   
from a woman hailing from Vegas   
who had taken her baby-to-be's   
repellant mass production  
infant bucket car seat   
to a vehicle upholstery shop to:  
“get the seat redone properly”   
in whole grain Bavarian leather  
to match the seashell hue   
of her 2012 Rolls Royce interior.   
  
She was complaining,   
of course.  
“Do you know how *hard* it is”   
she went on,   
“to source a tenth hide”  
 from the same batch of scar-free bull skin  
“as covers the rest of the Ghost?”  
  
I did not understand   
any of those words   
in that order.  
And yet.  
  
Her post garnered 478 notes   
of concern and understanding.  
“You got this, Mama!”  
“Praying for you”  
“Color matching to an existing Rolly?   
Yikes! That really is *so tough*.”  
  
I glance down at the rough cream hide  
of unknown origin, comprising   
the arms and pillows and frame  
of my first floor couch   
a/k/a my bed prison.  
  
The same sofa   
I'd negotiated   
in response to   
a Craigslist ad.  
  
I’d driven   
to a strange address   
an hour away to collect  
without any thought   
of where the cows came from  
— in a wobbly $17 a day  
rental moving truck.  
  
  
(Nor did I pause,  
mind you, where did my concern for my *own* *safety* go?)  
  
It dawns on me,   
while I palm   
the sticky second-hand leather  
that this custom car seat I’m reading about  
owned by this pregnant woman  
— and that might   
be used   
by her future babe   
for all of six months —   
will have a more privileged existence   
than my actual, living human baby.  
  
In this moment  
It becomes evident   
That simply sharing a due date  
Does not mean we breathe the same air  
And does not imply our babies   
would ever be allowed to play together.  
  
In our shared group of hundreds   
of incubating women  
sharing glimpses of our pregnancies  
I realized how much separated us  
  
and...  
  
I never felt so alone.