If you ask me how my first pregnancy went, I will tell you, it was picture perfect. That nothing wrong ever happened, that it made me happy and optimistic and changed my life.

If you ask my husband, he will tell you about the aches and pains, the nausea, the bed rest, the two-hours-a-day-six-days a week drips, the
constant weight loss, the food poisoning, and so on and so forth. I don’t remember any of that. It also upsets me when he tries to remind me because he ruins it for me. My imaginary, picture perfect experience that gave me my picture perfect child. It angers me more because if all that happened, and if I went through it, who gave HIM the right to complain?

Women are stupid. We are giving, we love to sacrifice ourselves for others and feel happy about it. We like to live a life of service, towards parents, siblings, husbands, siblings, in laws. We will continue to do so and if some one tells us to stop, or take a break we will most probably give  an emotional speech of the meaninglessness of our life unless we give ourselves to love.

Pregnancy is like that. It’s a constant state of giving and nurturing, and of constant discomfort and pain. And we love it, we rejoice in it. We look at those whose pregnancies are worse and thank God. We look at those who have difficulties conceiving and thank God. We look around us and
feel blessed. If ever we complain, it will be at night, when the insomnia hits, or when you can’t turn because you first have to wake up and turn your stomach before you turn yourself. We want our husbands to be there to listen to us, and the next morning, we will drown ourselves in guilt or burdening them, even when we know they slept through our complaints.

If you think there is a point to this blog, there isn’t. Just that women are stupid because we want more and more children and forget all the pain and discomfort we experienced the last time. And that God tailor made us for this function because no man could ever endure so much, or give so  much, or put himself through this much trouble for another human being….

Except for the nine months of whining that men put up, half the time thinking,

“AAAARGHHH!!! These women!!!”