Oh, so THAT'S how it works....
I forced Big V to watch an episode of MTV's "16 and Pregnant" because, as I explained, "eventually she gives birth and you need to see it." Quietly he took in the doofus boyfriend who failed to say anything even remotely intellegent, the swoony girlfriend who truly believed they were soul mates, and the can't-quite-deal-with-this mother, who spent the episode cussing out her son and yelling such things as "if you would've just kept it in your pants and not knocked up some girl you wouldn't BE in this situation" in front of the girlfriend. (yes, Awkward!)
About midway through the episode, during a 38 second clip showing the girl pushing, face contorted, knees yanked up to her ears, out pops this blicky-covered baby with a head the size of a cantelope. Knowing that I've got a beefy fetus that continues to expand in leaps and bounds I turn to V and frantically announce "Did you see that? Did you SEE how big that head was? There's no WAY a nine pound baby is pushing it's way out of my loins! You do it. I don't want to do it. It's your sperm's fault anyway!" (Which quickly turned into a 'well, if your egg hadn't been hanging around looking to hook up with the first sperm that passed its way -' 'are you calling my egg a hussy?' discussion...)
After V pointed out that clearly a 9-pound birth weight would be the first great stat for any reputable linebacker, he attempted to further soothe the Ripping Cervix Horror conjured in my mind by telling me - and I quote - "besides, babies just slip right out because they're so floppy. You won't feel a thing."
I stared at him for a good three minutes (he exhibited signs of uncomfortableness around twelve seconds, so the stare was quite effective) afterwhich I calmly announced that I would be in charge of Sex Ed when it came to our children and that from this moment forward he is not to claim to know how anything works when it comes to reproduction and to send all inquiries directly to me.
About midway through the episode, during a 38 second clip showing the girl pushing, face contorted, knees yanked up to her ears, out pops this blicky-covered baby with a head the size of a cantelope. Knowing that I've got a beefy fetus that continues to expand in leaps and bounds I turn to V and frantically announce "Did you see that? Did you SEE how big that head was? There's no WAY a nine pound baby is pushing it's way out of my loins! You do it. I don't want to do it. It's your sperm's fault anyway!" (Which quickly turned into a 'well, if your egg hadn't been hanging around looking to hook up with the first sperm that passed its way -' 'are you calling my egg a hussy?' discussion...)
After V pointed out that clearly a 9-pound birth weight would be the first great stat for any reputable linebacker, he attempted to further soothe the Ripping Cervix Horror conjured in my mind by telling me - and I quote - "besides, babies just slip right out because they're so floppy. You won't feel a thing."
I stared at him for a good three minutes (he exhibited signs of uncomfortableness around twelve seconds, so the stare was quite effective) afterwhich I calmly announced that I would be in charge of Sex Ed when it came to our children and that from this moment forward he is not to claim to know how anything works when it comes to reproduction and to send all inquiries directly to me.
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