No this isn't bathroom humor, it's merely a commentary on life in motion with a 13-month-old while anxiously awaiting a new little one. Seventeen months apart. So not only does this make this feminist exhausted, but life with a pseudo-modern male adds to the mix.
Often I see him awaken but in my mind's eye he arises, pelt in check, from a cave where he slumbers. Much like the neanderthal male who must beat his chest and do amazing things such as create fire, my neanderthal beats his chest in anger over his lack of sleep. His mere eight hours is simply not enough and so he metaphorically beats his chest to show his dissatisfaction with the situation.
Meanwhile, I have been up for nearly an hour and a half, having exercised, fed the child and showered already... all while being a mere 29 weeks pregnant. After breakfast, I gather up my belongings - lunch, workout clothes, personal items and baby - and head off to drop off the baby before embarking on the full-time, very demanding job in senior management.
Neanderthal man curls up in a ball and falls back asleep because he has a "tummy ache" and can't possible fold the clean laundry I have taken out of the dryer.
In my perfect world men are pregnant at least once in hopes that they will evolve beyond their own egos.
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