I’m having a meltdown. In every sense of the word. I think I know what’s accounting for the decline in birth rate here in Singapore. IT’S TOO BLOODY HOT TO BE PREGNANT. I’m telling you, the heat is insufferable, and it’s not like pregos have it easy as it is.
I can understand if the likes of Halle Berry rave about how wonderful pregnancy is. You’re living in LA, where the weather is a cool 16 degrees, and you actually have servants massaging your calfs and feeding you organic grapes while you lie on your deck chair overlooking Malibu Beach, complaining about not having enough screen time in X-men. If I were you, I’d have a dozen kids, just to make sure I trump AJ-Pitt.
But for mortals like me, every time I step out of the house, the sweltering heat makes me want to strip down and go skinny dipping. But then I’d probably be caught for indecent exposure and hauled off to prison. Remind me to install a private pool in my backyard before having another child. At least I’d be able to stay in the water all day.
I’m not surprised that pregnant women are so snappish all the time. They’re carrying a furnace around in their stomach, and combined with the heat wave, it’s like being in a giant microwave oven.
And there’s something about heat that makes people go crazy. When it’s nice and cool, things don’t seem so bad, but once you turn up the heat, brain cells are massacred by the millions and you start to have a meltdown over the most minute inconveniences. So the stereotype is true. Pregnant women are emotional and snappy. And it’s an entitlement, not a privilege.
