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afterbirth

Birth is a beautiful thing. It is how all humans, not to mention all animals that reproduce sexually, which is pretty much all of them, come into existence.

Without birth, there wouldn’t be life. And without life, there wouldn’t be the Internet. And without the Internet, we would have a hell of lot more productive time on our hands. But without birth we wouldn’t be alive to enjoy it. And without … Let’s not go in circles.

That having been said, I’d just as soon not have to think of the mechanics of birth. Conception? Yeah, sure, that’s the fun part.

But the birth? Not so much. And I’m a guy. I’ll never have to experience that pain myself.

The afterbirth is part of that which I’d rather not have to see. It’s the stuff that get’s ejected—placenta and fetal membranes—out of the mother when the baby is born.

It’s sort of like eating meat. I don’t mean that afterbirth is sort of like eating meat. Not in the slightest. Instead, there’s an analogy coming. Wait for it.

I know that meat used to be a living animal, but I’d just as soon forget about that and let the meat processors worry about getting it from a living animal to something nice-looking and good-tasting that I or a chef can cook up and put on my plate.

It’s sort of like that with babies. No. I don’t want to eat babies. Don’t be ridiculous. I told you, it’s an analogy. I’m about to complete it. Stay with me here. Please.

Babies are incredibly cute and a lot of fun to watch and play with. I’m just glad that I’ve never had to witness their entry into the world. I let other people take care of that.

And, before you ask, no, I’m not a father.

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