Remember that movie starring Arnold Schwartzenegger and Danny Devito? No, I’m not speaking of their smash hit, “Twins,” but the craptastic bomb they made next, “Junior.” In “Junior” Arnie played a scientist who, for science-y reasons, undergoes a male pregnancy. Yesterday I stumbled across the movie on cable and it got me thinking… if given the opportunity, would I like to be pregnant?
A lot of men would run for the hills if asked to carry a baby for nine months, but not me. Being pregnant actually has its share of perks:
You Can’t Be Called Fat
Not only can you not be called fat, but if anyone dares to make a comment about your size they will be subjected to an endless stream of outrage on your behalf. That would be a welcome change from my life now, when my buddies are quick to make a wisecrack the minute I put on a pound or ten. The jerks.
Spouse At Your Beck and Call
When you’re pregnant you can make requests of your spouse that would be deemed totally ridiculous under normal circumstances – like going to the supermarket at four a.m. to fetch you a snack. Instead of asking for the random stuff like avocado and pie that the pregnant Heather asks for, I would make her bring me double-doubles from In-N-Out.
Eating For Two
If I were pregnant I could explain my love of double-doubles by saying I was …eating for two. That would be way better than now when I have to say I am …eating for a fat guy.
Stretchy Pants in Public
When a pregnant woman wears stretchy pants in public people think, “Hey, she needs to be comfortable! Good for her!” When I wear stretchy pants in public, well, let’s just say no one says, “Good for him!”
Feeling of Superiority Over Friends
I can imagine the following conversation:
“Hey, Bert. What are you doing right now?”
“Making a sandwich.”
“A sandwich, huh? Well, I’m MAKING A BABY!”
Check mate. Booyah.
Of course, being pregnant is not without its drawbacks:
Heather threw up every day of her pregnancies with both our girls. That not only sounds terrible, but it sounds like it would put a serious damper on my enjoyment of my beloved double-doubles.
Back Pain, Hemorrhoids, Stretch Marks
Yikes. Pregnancy treats your body like a blond-headed stepchild in a family of red heads. But with all of that punishment I would at least sleep soundly at night, right?
Pregnancy makes sleeping a war; a war you have to be prepared for – don’t even think about going to bed with any less than four pillows and a fan on. The only good thing about not sleeping is that it is totally appropriate to wake your spouse in the middle of the night to complain about it. At least that’s how it seems in our house.
Random People Accost You
Random people everywhere will suddenly start touching your stomach whenever you are in public. Even worse than that, crazy old ladies will stop you when you are in a hurry to tell you about each of their seven pregnancies.
Pain Of Giving Birth
Apparently pushing the baby out of your orifice is somewhat painful.
So, considering all of that, would I do it? The answer is yes (with one caveat I will explain) and it is mainly because of one perk I failed to mention above:
Growing A Human Inside You
Most men are probably afraid to say just how awesome this is, but I will – it is awesome with a capital “A.” We men watch you ladies with awe (and a little jealousy) as you create this little person who we are going to spend the rest of our lives loving. Sadly, even the most attentive husband can never be anything more than a co-pilot in the process.
Now for the caveat… though I would like to carry a baby, I’m pretty sure women are better suited for it than men. Women live longer than their counterparts, and a key reason for this is because they go to the doctor more. Why do women go to the doctor more? Because, as opposed to men, they are in tune with their bodies, and I would bet they are in tune with the little body growing inside of them too.
Of course, until science catches up with the world envisioned by Danny Devito and Arnold Schwartzenegger, my carrying any future Spohr babies isn’t even an option. Don’t blame me, Heather. Blame science!