The Party Girl’s Pros And Cons Of Getting Pregnant
Why It’s Awesome: You get boobs.
Why It Sucks: You don’t get booze.
If you would like to read the extended version, it is provided below.
Why it’s awesome: It’s like in sci-fi movies when someone adds a tiny component to the dead spaceship that’s been sitting in someone’s garage and suddenly everything springs to life and there all these lights and bleep bloops and mechanisms firing and everyone’s like “Jesus, look at what it can do! We’ve never seen it do any of this before!” I think something like that happened in Independence Day. I don’t watch a lot of sci-fi. Anyway. Being pregnant is like that. Seeing what all your fun body bits are logistically designed for is interesting and humbling. Which can also make it a bit scary, like standing at the base of a very big mountain.
Why it sucks: It’s scary, like standing at the base of a very big mountain. Having a womb full of baby and observing your body doing things you didn’t tell it to do (things you didn’t even know it could do) brings on a disorienting sense of losing control. Like being a passenger in your own body. Personally, I like to feel in control of my body. Watching it do weird things I didn’t decide to make it do makes me feel small and powerless in a big, cosmic, “Oh right, bigger things exist than me and my whims and stupid little dramas and I’m really just this bag of fat and water that was designed to push out other bags of fat and water and I’ve really been kidding myself to think I mean more than that, so I’m just going to sit here and be part of the life cycle because that’s obviously what it comes down to” kind of way. It’s not, like, the best feeling in the world.
Why it’s awesome: We can all use a bitch slap of humility sometimes. The more uncomfortable is it, the more you (and by “you”, I definitely mean “me”) probably need it.
Why it sucks: People assume you don’t want to go out and do anything. Ever. Or talk about anything but babies and cervixes. I haven’t got a lot to say about cervixes, I don’t really like babies and while I assume that my offspring will be a special roast blend of completely goddamn fantastic, I haven’t met the kid yet so I don’t have a hell of a lot to say about him. Let’s talk about your life because I’m assuming that unlike me, the main players in your stories have vocal cords and eyelashes, which I’m almost entirely positive will make them more fascinating to talk about.
Why it’s awesome: You have an excuse to get out of anything, say anything, do almost anything, etc. And you get extra credit for even the most basic personal upkeep, like putting on make-up or heels. You get Saturday night compliments for a Tuesday morning’s worth of effort. And later on, if you end up anything short of a sweaty, bloated, gassy, disgusting cow, people will constantly tell you how amazing you look. (But I’m not sure how much I like that. Don’t placate me. Even I wouldn’t wanna hit it.)
Why it sucks: Pregnancy does weird things to your sexy parts. Excuse me, baby friend, but my nipples are the cheerleaders of Team Orgasm. They are for recreation only. Why is there this milky crap coming out of them and holy hell, you’re trying to eat it. And I refuse to even talk about what’s going to happen to my vagina.
Why it’s awesome: Watch this, you basic bitches: I can make milk come out of my tits. I can feed life from my fun bags. You know who can’t do that? Dudes. Babes without babies. It’s kind of impressive. And I feel like after all the awkward pawing I’ve let drunk guys do to them, my boobs deserved a slightly more distinguished assignment.
More on boobs: They’re bigger and I can’t stop playing with them. To the Jessica Simpsons of the world, you have my sympathy because, babygirl, you look like you’re very seriously suffocating. But for the meager-breasted among us, the newly-fertile northern peaks are rad.
Why it sucks: You can’t drink. And furthermore, you really, really want to drink. I hear there are other ways to process stress but hand-to-god, I haven’t really figured out what those are yet. Where was I when the rest of you were evidently learning how to cope with problems in ways that don’t involve the sweet nectar, cigarettes, and ill-advised sex with strangers? Oh right, I was getting drunk, smoking cigarettes, and having ill-advised sex with strangers. Now I have to learn new coping techniques, and they likely won’t involve looking really cool.
Why it’s awesome: I now have to learn new coping techniques, and they likely won’t involve damaging my organs and/ or self-respect. This process can only be compared to those first few weeks (which are also the last few weeks for a lot of us) of a new exercise routine; painful at first, but then you get the hang of it and feel healthy and accomplished and smug and all that good, superior feeling crap that we like to feel. Once you learn how to soothe a rough day sans Jameson and Marlboros, you’re going to feel so gloriously superior to your sad, indulgent, barfly contemporaries with their vacant stares/ uteruses. (I didn’t mean that ladies. I mean, yeah, I did, but I love you guys. Please save me a bass player to regret in the morning. I can’t stay pregnant forever.)