You know how when you’re a kid the whole world goes to some pretty extraordinary lengths to convince you some fat dude in red velvet pyjamas breaks into your house once a year to deliver toys that he carried in a sled from his offshore slave factory in the north pole? I mean, think of all the movies, teachers, parents, even the news ‘tracks Santa’. Then, as you get older, you realise everyone was just lying to you for their own amusement. And you develop some pretty serious trust issues, which spiral into an obsession with J.F.K and Lizard People and eventually land you a small stint in rehab?
Well that’s pretty much my take on childbirth. Minus the OCD and rehab. Actually, mainly just the thing where the whole world lies about what really happens. To me, the so called ‘reality’ of childbirth seems just a little too excruciating and far-fetched. I mean, come on, there are more than six (or seven now?) billion people in the world. Surely there wouldn’t be that many people if women got torn in two giving birth to them. All seven billion. That’s a lot of torn vaginas.
Instead, what I think really happens, is you waddle into hospital like a stuffed Christmas turkey, get hauled onto one of those questionably hygienic hospital beds, and while you’re screaming in pain, the doctor (who’s laughing) comes over and presses your belly button and the whole thing just swings open like a door and the nurses just plucks the baby out. Like that pregnant Barbie back in the 90s. You know, the one with hooker make-up that looked about 16, which come to think of it, was probably wildly inappropriate. None of this pushing a watermelon out of a lemon bullshit.
Or maybe we’re harvested like little pieces of hydroponic fruit from robot test tubes and hooked up to the weird and slightly sadistic virtual reality that is life on planet earth. Either way. Still seems more logical than pushing an entire human being out of your nether regions.
You’ve probably deduced by now that I have, in fact, never given birth. Well done to you. And although I’ve never given birth, it’s fair to say I am reasonably familiar with the size of my vagina. And it is certainly nowhere near the size of a newborn child. Those things are enormous. Literally the size of a watermelon. F*** that shit.
While we’re on the topic of childbirth and pregnancy I would like to make a small tangent about the time I learnt embarazado does not, in fact, mean embarrassed in Spanish. No, the correct word for embarrassed in desconcertado (at least, according to google). But there are many, many words in Spanish that do only require that adding of ‘o’ or ‘ado’ or simply Spanish accent to translate an English word. For example, musica = music, diccionario = dictionary, Universidad = University. Embarazado is not one of these, as I found out in a little bakery in Madrid trying to apologise for my shitty Spanish, and accidently telling the lovely lady behind the counter I was ‘so pregnant by my bad Spanish’. Yes, turns out embarazado means pregnant.
Anywho, feel free to bring up this blog if ever I should find myself in a hospital, giving birth. I’m sure I’ll find it super amusing…