Big Macs & Babies

Last week was a crazy busy week at work, so when a work buddy suggested a quick run to McDonalds to grab a bite, I happily obliged. I only allow myself to "hit it" about once every 6 months, and for good reason (which I will not get into detail about here for fear of losing readers).

About half an hour after we had gobbled up the junky meal, my work buddy began to groan and moan. His sounds and movements gave me flashbacks of my hours of labour with my first baby. It seemed to hit him in waves - one moment consoling us with "it's ok I'm good", followed by "oh god, it hurts so bad". This pathetic experience made me think about the comparisons between what us ladies go through when birthing human lives vs what poor men (think "man colds" aka "pooor babies") go through when having Big Macs at Micky Dees.

It begins with temptation. For mamas, it might be the sight of a newborn baby cradled in a new mother's arms. The sight might initiate a little rumble in the tummy - the "I think I want one" feelings. For the hungry dudes, it's the sight of the golden arches, or the smell of the greasy fries that initiates the "I'm gonna hit it" feelings of desire. Cut to the next scene where we get preggers and they hit the drive-thru.

The next stage is the instant gratification. For us, it's the blissful pregnancy stage where we rub our tummies, share the good news, daydream of the day our new little babies arrive. For them, it's the sinking of their teeth into the hot pile of Big Mac deliciousness. Gulping it down in three bites while groans of satisfaction sneak through their lips.

The following stage is the "what have I done" stage. This is where the real parallel comes into fruition. For us it's the intermittent labour pains. Cramps, groans, the inability to push full sentences out in between unbearable contractions. For them, it's kind of the same, although in no way comparable in terms of intensity.

The final stage is the “erasing of all memories of the bad parts” stage. For us, it’s the feeling of holding our babies in our arms for the first time. The pains of labour a distant foggy memory, and the outcome a blessing. For them, it’s the moment their bellies are once again empty, and a pass by the golden arches occurs once again.

Wash, rinse, repeat. You get the drift.