Today I perused a headline which read, "Woman Gives Birth in Her Pants".
I didn't click on it for fear of too many details. I instinctively avoid that which may lead me down a road to hearing about another person's placenta. (My sister is unlike me and not only frequents that road, but is capable of steering you toward it while you are trying to eat your mashed potatoes). I suppose most people would naturally react by showing concern for the woman, her child, and their well-being. Perhaps one might wonder what the circumstances are that precede introducing the fruit of your loins to your Fruit of the Looms. Not me.
Me? My immediate thoughts went to: what type of pants was she wearing? Was it those maternity leggings? Did the infant make a baby-sized lump on her inner thigh like the neck of a cartoon flamingo that swallowed a chicken leg? Maybe it was sweatpants. And when the kid came out, it swaddled right into the elastic band around the ankle, making a covenient cradle.
The good news is: the baby was fine. It was a little boy and they named him Mason.
When Mason gets to be about 4, won't he be impressed to find out that his mom commited the ultimate bodily function... IN HER PANTS.