My brother believes that just after a woman delivers a baby, her body secretes a hormone called “Forgetsin”, which wipes all memories concerning pregnancy, pain and child birth from her mind and immediately starts her thinking about the next one.
My brother’s not big on political correctness.
One thing is for sure, though, women are secreting dangerous hormones during pregnancy. As an illustration, I’ll relate an incident that happened while my wife carried our first child.
One night in the first trimester, my wife decided to do a load of laundry. I, of course, sat dumbly on the couch soaking up television. My wife picked up a pair of my casually thrown jeans and began to clean the pockets out.
This pocket-cleaning practice of hers is usually a good thing. I’m famous for leaving receipts, pens, etc. in my pockets while I wash my clothes. This is why most of my underwear is blue and filled with odd bits of paper.
I don’t know why I keep doing this, but I am convinced that if I can get the right celebrity to start wearing blue, paper-filled underwear, a nation-wide fad would result. I haven’t heard back from Madonna about this (if you don’t count the court order, anyway), but I did notice in a People Magazine article that Britney Spears’ new husband Kevin had white robes made for his groomsmen with the word “Pimp” emblazoned on the back. That sounds like a guy who is both ready to jump on a fad and is seriously missing the style receptor genes found throughout the normal human genome. I may have found my guy.
Back to my story. On this particular night, my wife’s good pocket-cleaning practices went awry. I heard a yell of anger from the bedroom. Naturally, I ignored it. This is usually the safest thing to do, but my pregnant wife came storming out of the bedroom and into the living room.
“Who the #&%$ is Mimi?” she yelled.
Only she didn’t say #&%$. If you’ve never had a pregnant wife, you should know that the foulest words will spill out of her mouth at merest provocation. Much like her hips, which move and stretch in preparation for delivering a baby, her mouth will start learning to form the swear words that she will use on you during the painful delivery. Get used to this.
“Who the #&%$ is Mimi?” she repeated and held up a slip of paper with a phone number on it.
“It says ‘Mimi’s Cell Phone’. Are you cheating on your pregnant wife?”
“I don’t know any Mimi,” I said truthfully. Then it occurred to me that maybe I should deny the overall crime, too. “I’m not cheating on you. I would never cheat on you.”
I reached for the piece of paper. My wife ripped it up and threw the pieces to the floor.
“Like I’m gonna let you keep that &%$#@’s phone number?”.
I should point out that my wife is normally not like this. I can only surmise that her raging hormones and added weight had made her, well, vulnerable. And her righteous fury was so, well, righteous, that for a second I actually asked myself this question:
“Did I get a woman’s phone number?”
Nope. I started to pick up the pieces of paper so that I could see the phone number and this just enraged my wife.
“That’s right,” she said. “Why don’t we give that $*#%$ a call? I’d like to tell her what I think of a $*#@# who would cheat with the husband of a pregnant woman. Let’s give her a call.”
I pieced the number together and it took a few seconds for it to hit me. It was a woman’s cell phone number. And it was a woman I had a long history with. I looked at my wife and told her the truth.
“It doesn’t say ‘Mimi’s cell phone’,” I said. “I wrote it quickly, so it kinda looks like that.”
“Oh yeah?” said my wife. “Whose number is it?”
“It says ‘Mom’s cell phone’,” I said. “My mom just got a new cell phone number. She gave me the number the other day.”
Nothing but the sound of crickets as my wife digested this.
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”
I started laughing. “Don’t be sorry. You’re right. Let’s call that %^$#@ and let her know what you think.”