Theoretically, giving birth to a child is a good thing, because you end up with a baby, which is a prime motivating factor if you want to have children. But I will never understand why women look forward to the children’s birthdays year after year, which is an observation based on the following procreation formula:
MAN + WOMAN = BABY & BABY + BIRTH = PAIN!
Seriously, in order to bring a child into the world, a woman must give birth, and this is mainly due to the fact that your typical baby does not grow on trees. I know this because I was in the delivery room twice, and there were no trees there. And in order to give birth, ladies, you have to go through water breaking, cramping, bleeding, ripping, and then you must breath, which does absolutely nothing whatsoever, and then comparatively speaking, you are required to push and squeeze something roughly the size of a beach ball through an opening roughly the size of a keyhole, and the resulting physics (e.g. a very LARGE object through a very small opening) results in PAIN!
And though some people will tell you that childbirth is a type of pain which you eventually forget, as a professional humor columnist who has never actually given birth, but who has grown lots of trees, I feel safe when I say, in a professional humor columnist manner: “Yeah, right! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hardy Har Har!”
Seriously, given all the birthing information above, whenever a child’s birthday party arrives, the mother, the one who produced said baby, should NOT be looking forward to it and certainly not celebrating it; rather, they should be remembering the misery and surgically attach themselves to a bottle of gin.
Look, I can tell you from my past pain experience that there is a certain date, associated with a certain pain, which I do NOT look forward to. It was May 17th, 1982, around ten in the morning. I was finishing up my college thesis titled, “How I Survived Four Years of College Eating Only Ramen Noodles,” and while reviewing my paper, I found myself on the receiving end of a wicked paper cut.
Now, I’m not talking about your ordinary run-of-the-mill paper cut; I’m talking here about a life-threatening paper cut which ALMOST broke the skin, and to this very day, EVERY May 17th, at around ten in the morning, I flashback to that crippling searing pain, I put on a brave face, and leap into a vat of Budweiser. But perhaps that is me just being a BIG crybaby, again.
Anyway, with the advancements in modern medicine, it is now hypothetically possible for a man to carry and give birth to a baby, that is, if there are no trees around. JUST JOKING! And, therefore, one of these days I would not be surprised if my wife were to approach me and say the following:
“Billy, I gave birth to two children, I’d like another, and so now it is your turn. (Grin) Oh, and don’t worry, childbirth is the kind of pain you forget.” (Grin)
And I would calmly and courteously respond, in a professional humor columnist manner, the following: “Yeah, right! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hardy Har Har!”
