Women of cover

(Update: as everyone at church observed this morning, I'm still here. My doc, however, informs me that I am in imminent danger of having a baby at any moment, so get ready. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.)

I like clothes. Not buying them, wearing them. Says so right here we should. Shame, like pain in childbearing, is something we picked up along with sin. This is why I reserve my right to find labor not only painful, but humiliating. I know, I know--doctors and nurses have seen it all. There's no other way to do it. But I don't like trying to be talked out of my embarrassment over the whole thing. Yes, it does bother me, a LOT, even in my least analytical moments of labor. Yes, everyone has told me male doctors are nicer, but I just can't deal with the idea, so I'll stick with the mean girls. And I would really, really like for someone to explain to me why there always seem so many people there just watching the show. Back to the nurses' station with you! Don't you have some annoying patient to complain about together? That would be more fun.

For those of us who wish wearing a burka wouldn't give the wrong confessional impression: it's ok to feel bad about the sartorial necessities of childbirth. It's sad that we do, but it's also sad that the whole thing hurts so bloody much. Nobody would try to tell you it doesn't hurt, or it doesn't matter that it hurts. And I think it's fair to say that if your modesty hurts too, it just shows that your sin-damaged reflexes are in working order.