“And Then You Don’t Have to Wear Pants”
Beauty of being a female: you can wear a dress, then go pantsless. No one questions you, because who wears pants with dresses? Only grunge kids, that’s who.
31 glorious weeks.
On the flip side, I’m going pantless because the thought of wearing jeans to work made me want to cry. Not always, just most days.
Aaaand the reason? *Because* I’m f’n female. And Life, the Universe, and Everything dictates I get to carry our child. Sure, people go out of their way to open doors and move furniture for me, and I do get a connection to this little fetus that my husband never will, but as I’m writing this sitting in bed in the dark, you guys, I am getting kicked in the pancreas. The fucking pancreas.
Not cool, And, whhhy mother nature, why? I mean, the whole painful labor thing was supposed to be because of Eve (even though it’s really about us walking upright, but that’s fine), but why is the burden fully on the female to begin with? Why can’t the males share the job, dammit?
Much better. Although if the males had to waddle around with child I bet we wouldn’t have been able to kill so many mammoths and we probably would have died out waay to early for our time. Or perhaps just became vegetarians at an early age. Basically the same thing.
So in conclusion. I want to be back to wearing pants holding a squirming little ball of love.
Pantsless in Pineville,