Thank God I’m Not A Woman!

Yesterday, while slicing an onion I was surprised by my cell phone ringing in my breast pocket and I poked my hand with the knife.

I am an able bodied man, but when I am hurt in the slightest way I scream. I don’t say ouch. I scream.

Sophia, my wife, heard me from the bedroom and came running in the kitchen expecting a torrent of blood and at least one dismembered pinky. She was disappointed to see just a tiny gash, no bigger than a pin prick. “Thank God, you are not a woman”, she told me while I was nursing my wounded finger and ego.

Where is this guy when I need him?

Seriously, I feel that I am not grateful enough for not being a woman.

I don’t have to be pregnant. Carrying around a growing baby in my belly would be a total drag in my active life. The happiest period of my life would be punctuated with bouts of nausea, fending off strangers wanting to touch my bump and revulsions to random smells. And as a loving memory of this blissful period, I would have stretch marks all over my once supple body. I don’t have the societal pressure to ‘glow’ when all I want to do is scream out obscenities. Neither do I have to put on hold my love of craft beers and I can breathe in all the second-hand smoke I want- guilt-free. Being a man lets me avoid this nine-month bump. Thank God.

Another Random Person Trying To Feel Her Bump

I don’t have to deliver my child. I was there in the room, when my daughter Zara was born. I held my wife’s hand as Zara came out. But as a man I don’t have to endure the screaming and shouting and the pain. Oh my lord – the unbearable pain.

I broke my nail once, and when I rushed my seriously injured self in the ER, the nurse asked me how I rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. ’TEN, what else?’, I gave her the obvious answer. ‘10 is during childbirth’, she snipped. And this is where my teenage mind went, ‘Oh if you knew so much about pain, then why didn’t you just become a Doctor?’

Seeing my daughter being born, while Sophia convulsed and writhed in pain, without any medications reminded me of the nurse; I am sorry to report she was probably right.

The only inconvenience I had during my daughter’s birth was a dry throat because I was continuously taking to Sophia. Thankfully, our mid-wife kept on refilling the juice, thinking that Sophia was drinking it. She admonished me for drinking the juice since she was monitoring Sophia’s fluid intake. Imagine the inhumanity of not being able to drink juice in my own house (we had a home birth). At least, I didn’t have to give birth. And, thank God for not making me a woman.

Me, obviously exhausted, after Zara’s birth.

No post-partum depression. No self-image problems. No baby-weight to lose. No guilt of not producing enough milk to feed the baby. No hair-loss. Man, am I lucky.

Writing this post is so therapeutic. There are days when I get bogged down playing video games and following ‘The Game of Thrones’ and ‘Breaking Bad’ that I forget to pay gratitude to the universe for not making me a woman.

Please remind the men in your life that the benefits of being a guy does not end with just being able to pee standing.

Seriously, I could never go through childbirth and then truthfully say it was an amazing experience- only a woman could do that. An amazing experience for me would be to see the The Boss- Live In Concert. I would be screaming, but it would be happy yelling.

So lets agree to change the saying from, ‘Take it like a man’ to ‘Take it like a woman’.

It’s just fair.

If you agree to my proposal, please leave a comment below and share it on your social network.

6 thoughts on “Thank God I’m Not A Woman!

  1. Sometimes I can be a total baby and my husband will pick on me and I’ll often tell him – “I’d love to see you give birth.” His response is always “If I could do that we’d be millionaires”

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