Last laugh

In the hurly-burly of preg­nancy, some­times it re­ally is best to fol­low your nose, writes fa­ther-of-three Craig Bishop

Your Pregnancy - - Contents -

I WAS READ­ING an ar­ti­cle the other day that claimed that not only does God ex­ist, but that She has a great sense of hu­mour. The ar­ti­cle pointed to the ex­is­tence of the duck-billed platy­pus as proof. This much­ma­ligned Aus­tralian crea­ture is part rep­tile, part mam­mal, part bird, and is probably the clos­est liv­ing thing to Ju­lia Don­ald­son’s Gruf­falo, even down to poi­sonous prick­les (ad­mit­tedly not on its back, but on its hind legs). There is sim­ply no way, so the ar­gu­ment goes, that the other­wise pedan­tic ma­chin­ery of evo­lu­tion could have al­lowed such a con­tra­dic­tion to sur­vive. As such, evo­lu­tion is fake news and God is still an om­nipo­tent be­ing, al­beit one who is sub­ject to un­con­trol­lable fits of gig­gles. Google it for more fun platy­pus facts. DNA sam­pling of this mag­nif­i­cent mys­tery re­veals that while we hu­mans have only two sex chro­mo­somes, the X and Y, the platy­pus has 10, with five of each kind. In the­ory, al­though not borne out in prac­tice, this means that there could be 25 dif­fer­ent gen­ders for the hum­ble platy­pus. Only a fe­male God, says re­searchers, could have con­ceived of such fluid po­ten­tial. Be that as it may, my own re­search, con­ducted at the coal-face as it were of three suc­ces­sive preg­nan­cies, tends to sug­gest that God cer­tainly does ex­ist. Af­ter all, to para­phrase Ro­mance poet Wil­liam Blake, what other im­mor­tal hand or eye could have con­ceived of such awe-in­spir­ing sym­me­try as the foe­tus? How­ever, God is def­i­nitely male. Sorry. Sci­ence will out. Why am I so sure? It’s all to do with the butt pil­low. What is a butt pil­low? The butt pil­low is an off­shoot of those other bit­terly op­posed fac­tions – the Loud but Proud school of thought, or the Silent but Vi­o­lent dis­ci­pline. The for­mer holds that, if you sup­ply it, don’t try deny it. The lat­ter hold that if you fart on a couch, it doesn’t stink as much. Who­ever holds the truth, a butt pil­low re­ally comes into its own once mom-to-be fi­nally ad­mits that she farts. Like a trooper. All day. It’s per­fectly nat­u­ral. Mom is pro­duc­ing loads of ex­tra pro­ges­terone, ba­si­cally a growth steroid for baby, which has the un­for­tu­nate side-ef­fect of slow­ing di­ges­tion down. See – only a male God would have over­looked that one. A fe­male God would never have al­lowed women to fart, and cer­tainly not 15 times more fre­quently than an av­er­age hu­man be­ing, ac­cord­ing to one un­con­tested Face­book meme. If God was fe­male men would men­stru­ate, ma­ter­nity leave would last 10 years (at dou­ble pay for be­ing such a hero), and it would be per­fectly all right to covet thy neigh­bour’s new ivory-coloured Smeg blender. Any­way, be all that as it may. Once, mir­a­cle of mir­a­cles, mom-to-be has ac­knowl­edged that she now has the abil­ity to drag her hus­band out of a much-needed deep sleep by the power of her farts alone (we’ll cover preg­nancy snor­ing in an­other ar­ti­cle), now hubby can get to grips with that God-given tal­ent. Yes, you can try to avoid food crav­ings. You can try eat­ing six smaller meals each day. You can chew gum, sit up straighter when you eat and do mild ex­er­cise af­ter each meal. But these are all fairy-gold prom­ises. What you now need to in­vest in is the butt pil­low. Any old pil­low or cush­ion will do. Then, when you go to sleep, point that ori­fice away from your hus­band, strap the buttpil­low to your der­rière and sleep the sleep of a thou­sand in­no­cents.

WHO­EVER HOLDS THE TRUTH, A BUTT PIL­LOW RE­ALLY COMES INTO ITS OWN ONCE MOM-TO-BE FI­NALLY AD­MITS THAT SHE FARTS

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