Go fuck yourself, Mike Huckabee


This weekend, Mike Huckabee, a man who would like to be president of the United States of America, explained why it is perfectly perfect that a 10- to 11-year-old girl should be forced to bear her stepfather's child. Oh sure, it was "sad" and all, this actual real-life baby in Paraguay who was forced to give birth to a rapist's baby, but what can you do? (An abortion. You can do an abortion.) Kaili covered pretty well already why abortion is great and Mike Huckabee can fuck himself right in his fallopian tubes, but she didn't really delve into what pregnancy does to a woman's body, much less a pre-teen girl's. Let's rectify that, with mommyblogging!

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Quite recently -- nine and a half weeks ago, if you want to get sexxy about it -- I had a baby! Even though I am 42 years old and stone cold having geriatric pregnancies like I am Madonna or something, this was my very first child from my womb. Except for my thrombosed hemorrhoids, I had a very easy pregnancy!

Let's discuss what an "easy" pregnancy looks like, for a grown-ass woman with luscious 36-inch hips and a husband who loves her and brings everything she needs to her resting settee, and who also WANTS A BABY and is therefore PSYCHOLOGICALLY STOKED ON IT. As opposed to a 10-year-old girl who presumably does not have luscious childbearing hips nor a husband, and who might -- MIGHT -- want a fucking doll.

For the first three months, I was unbelievably exhausted, as my body decided to manufacture a blood bank's worth of hemoglobin or whatever (science). I did not have morning sickness. I ate lots of soft cheeses and deli meats even though the pregnancy books tell you to boil them or microwave them or something for listeria. I did not microwave my salami, because I am a scofflaw.

Four months was fine, I got married. Wait, no, that was three months too. Wait, no, that was almost three months, because that is how long I had known my husband, almost three months. Whatever, four months was unmemorable. I probably complained a lot, nobody knows.

From five months through seven months, I felt fantastic. My hair was thick and glossy, and I looked super cute and fertile (it is good to look fertile WHEN YOU ARE GROWN), and everything was great, if you don't count the strangled veins that were sticking out of my ass like Angelina Jolie's lips. My goodness, THOSE HURT!

At eight months, everything went to shit. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't eat (there was no room, because I was full of baby). I couldn't sleep due to the constant, excruciating heartburn for which I was taking 12 Tums a day until my midwife said NOT TO DO THAT ANY MORE THAT IS TOO MANY TUM'S. I certainly couldn't sleep, because lying flat caused the heartburn to race up my esophagus and give me cancer (note: I do not actually have cancer), so I would just go outside in the middle of the night and smoke cigarettes and watch the dirtbag neighbor's TV from all the way across the street because they have a REALLY BIG TV. Everything hurt. When I turned over in bed from one side to the other (you cannot lie flat on your back, heartburn or no, because the baby pushes down on all your organs), it took so long and was so much effort, I actually had to rest in the middle.

Then there was the last month, which was great: The baby dropped down from on top of my lungs where she had been hanging out, so I could breathe again. The end was in sight, which was happy. Nine months was cool! Then again, I was looking forward to having my daughter with my sweet husband who loves us instead of with some beast who loves raping. I still couldn't eat or sleep, but so what who cares. We went to the hospital a lot because we were having contractions every night at midnight all night long, and they kept sending us home (infuriating). My labor was fairly painless because after like a day, they just cut the baby out of me anyway. The next two weeks were not painless. It's weird that nobody tells you how much it hurts to cut through your stomach to pull a baby out of it. I feel like they should let you know that up front. On the bright side, my OB-GYN said a super nice lie while he was cutting through my abs about how they (my abs) existed, when I know damn well I do not actually own any abs, which makes it a medical miracle that I can stand upright!

And there you have it. That is an easy pregnancy, for a grown woman, with grown hips and a husband, who wants a baby and didn't even get raped.

The average 10-year-old (in America, not Paraguay) stands four-feet-six. She weighs 70 pounds. And when she goes out on the playground, she plays horses, wherein she PRETENDS TO BE A HORSE. (This may have changed since 1983, but PROBABLY NOT.)

Fuck you, Mike Huckabee, you soulless charlatan falsely pious talking pigman. Get your fucking mouth off girls' bodies.

Love,

Wonkette

Rebecca Schoenkopf

Rebecca Schoenkopf is the owner, publisher, and editrix of Wonkette. She is a nice lady, SHUT UP YUH HUH. She is very tired with this fucking nonsense all of the time, and it would be terrific if you sent money to keep this bitch afloat. She is on maternity leave until 2033.

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