Posts Tagged ‘pregnancy’

Time ticks by

A day becomes a month.
Months flow into years.
Years churn slowly
into decades.

Never again
do we meet

face to face.

Our time
began,
occurred,
and ended
within such
a short span –

less than twenty-four hours.

Before you
became

somebody else’s.

I do not speak of you
mouth closed
by fear,
trepidation,
and

self-imposed silence.

Shut down
by others
who choose to believe

what happened
what I did-
is

easily forgettable.

But my sin

still haunts me.

Wrapped inside
the baby boy
who slipped
from my embrace
to her’s.

Born
not under her heart
But

from within

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_38666567_beerbelly_corbis_300Ask normal people the question, “How would the world be different if men were given the gift of pregnancy and childbirth?” and the answer is usually very succint: “Half as populated.”

Now ask me the same question, and you will get, “The world of competitive sports will never be the same.” HUH???

Up until now, and most likely until infinity – thank you for that, Eve (you just had to eat that damn apple, didn’t you?)– the art of baby growing has always fallen upon women. Despite the saccharine-sweet exclamations men share as they find out their one single spermatory secretion has met its mark “We’re having a baby!”, the responsibility of actually bringing the new baby to fully cooked status always falls on the woman’s shoulders. News to all men out there who are about to become daddies: getting a woman pregnant is simple — all you need is a surface.

But in my version of a new reality, I believe the world’s population wouldn’t be halved at all. In fact, I bet it would double, maybe triple. Because, unlike women, men feel the need to be competitive in everything they do, and if they could procreate, they’d procreate the hell out of it, just because Steve would hate the idea that his best buddy Jimmy was on his fourth pregnancy while he was waiting for his second baby to “get in the game, kid – move down that birth canal – MOVE dammit!”

Then, there’s the sports angle of male pregnancy. Men would begin by renaming it the “Gestation Game”. They would form leagues, teams and fantasy birthing camps. It would last from fall to spring, so as not to interfere with baseball, football or basketball season. They would have logoed maternity uniforms, support socks and baseball caps.  They would create a “pregnancy safe” vitamin-infused beer called “Fetus Fuel” and celebrate with hearty pats on the backs, high fives and endless verbal barbs at the increasing size of their best buddies’ asses and man boobs while flipping burgers on the backyard grill: “That’s one sexy maternity flannel ya got there, Bob…har har har.”

statisticsLabor would be a series of stats that would boggle any statistician’s brain: how many hours, minutes and seconds of labor, intensity of contractions,  pain-free versus epidural teams, natural birth versus Cesarean section,  weight and length of newborn, how many seconds before first cry, the list goes on. I imagine casinos around the world would need to build separate betting parlors just to handle the billions bet every day in preparation of the “big event”. What a statistical nightmare.

Fortunately, science has forbidden men from hijacking this very miraculous process and making it their own. Because, as history has shown us, men have always found a way to take ordinary events and make them more complicated. And explosive.

Guys, leave the male sport of having babies where it belongs — with the sea horses.

seahorse