Sometime, I daresay in the not-so-distant future,
my (more than likely adolescent) son will throw the
"You don't ever do anything for me" line at me.
I'll throw back the
"Do you know exactly little square blocks of chocolate cake I cut up and iced to make
that Minecraft cake for your 11th birthday?"
Admittedly, that might be only after the
"Do you know what trauma and irreparable damage my pelvic floor
and nether regions went through giving birth to you?" line
(though Mr Boozle and I are currently negotiating at what age my offspring
need to be before I use that for the less than moral use of emotional blackmail).
But it will be a close call.
Because they were both excruciating.
One day, I might get over the trauma of natural childbirth