I have been delivering babies for 32 years. But not anymore. As of a few months ago I hung up my forceps and began my full-time journey of office and surgical gynecology, or as my wife calls it, a professional spreader of old wives tails!
one of my many passions is writing. For a number of years I have been hammering out a column on women's health for a local newspaper, (Augusta Family Magazine)I have two published books, (My Books) on women's health and fitness. I have another blog where I have been bloviating for a few years. (roneaker.blogspot.com) . Now that I am out of the stork business, I have the time and the malpractice coverage to poke a little fun at the world of the pregnant woman. This blog will be a serialization of a future book, What to Expect As You're Expanding. My hope is you will get a very little useful information...and a lot of laughs.
And I would love to know what you think. Comment, and if you like it share it with friends. If you don't like it...wrinkle up and die.
So here goes:
Let’s begin at the beginning. Getting pregnant is by far the most fun of the whole enterprise. This is the epitome of the win-win situation. Our advice is simply practice, practice, practice. Practice doesn’t make perfect, as most women will tell you, but it can be more invigorating than, say, cleaning the cat litter box. As one famed football coach once said, “Practice doesn’t make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.” We are not sure what constitutes a perfect practice setting for making babies, but we sense it involves flowers, Chardonnay and Barry White. It is also a proven fact that the quickest way to become pregnant is to be underage, do it once in the back of a Chevy pickup, and tell your parents you were bowling. We’ve never seen it not take under those conditions.
Now we realize that those of you who have children already are at a grave disadvantage. You have our sympathies and our understandings. If you had any short term memory left you would be playing racquetball instead of making another baby. Most of you repeat offenders had the neurons devoted to the birth experience disintegrate moments after giving birth the first time, otherwise the world would be filled with only children. This selective amnesia is God’s way of perpetuating the population. An accurate recollection of a previous pregnancy and birth is by far the most effective birth control imaginable, easily surpassing castration and nunnery vows. Once you have perfected the art of shrouding these memories as cloudy, vague remembrances, somewhat akin to the recall of a twelve martini New Year’s Eve party, then consideration of a second or third child enters into the realm of consciousness. Our advice at this point is to get a hobby. Find something meaningful to take the place of procreation such as origami or quantum physics. Think of how much further Einstein could have gone if Mrs. Einstein hadn’t kept wandering around the house in that thong. If your spouse approaches you about a new baby, simply imitate your current offspring and throw up and poop on them. This is guaranteed to dull the moment as well as stain the carpet.
The greatest actual stumbling block to repetitive procreation is twofold, desire and opportunity. It is safe to say that in folks with one or more kids, sex drive has generally driven off and not even MapQuest could find it. Let’s consider that first.
Libido is a multifaceted drive that is more complex than a nuclear engineering textbook and trying to give a simple explanation about a common cause is like explaining why Brittany Spears is still relevant; it is just not possible. Sex drive is an amalgamation of physiological, psychological, and neurological functions; sort of a Hungarian Goulash of love. Everything has to be balanced and functional to ignite a spark of desire, and any little neuronal misfire douses the flames like a water cannon on a match.
The three top reasons for a low libido are stress, fatigue, and husbands. Welcome to the world of a mom! We have yet to meet a mom who didn’t dine at the table of stress and then have a big helping of fatigue for dessert. It’s hard to feel like a sexy Lolita after fourteen hours of diapers, a condescending boss, spontaneously generated, undefinably large loads of laundry, and a husband who thinks affection means turning down the TV while making love. At the end of a mom’s average day she is about as frisky as a sloth on Quaaludes, so when Danny the Love Sponge comes waltzing into the bedroom “bringing sexy back” draped in his worn, ragged tighty-whities, smelling of coffee and “Polo”, no wonder she doesn’t just throw herself at him. In many instances, the only thing she can throw is up! Passion is predicated by good hygiene and cropped nose hair.
