“There’s a saying that goes, ‘If you want something done, ask a busy woman to do it,'” Hillary Clinton said in a recent Time Magazine story about Nancy Pelosi.

Isn’t that the goddamn truth. I am not holier than thou, but holy shit, I can get things done. This week, social media reminded me of my 65-hour labor I endured five years ago. My baby girl turned 5 on Thursday, so fond memories came back of my vagina being ripped and shredded, my legs split in half and numbed for two days, a catheter accessorizing my piss hole like a hood piercing and contractions that felt like I was being disemboweled with a Swiss Army knife.

Oh, and there was my weakened sanity, overinflated hormones and tortured immune system. And cankles. The cankles were epic.

It’s wild to me how women are built to handle this stuff. I don’t remember labor as being horrible. I do remember, at the time, that it felt like four horses were quartering me in the middle of some sick game. But immediately after it was over, my willpower overshadowed the pain.

Have you ever been in labor? I’ll demonstrate on you if you want. I just need a long weekend, some boxing gloves and a strap-on made out of hatchets. I’ll buy you a shot after.

With a wild past year under me, I’ve been questioning the power of my inner Wonder Woman. How have I not collapsed into a pile of stress-induced vomit once a week? I’ve been telling friends and family that a mental breakdown is on the near horizon for the past eight months. Sometimes I want to stay in bed for three years and sleep myself sick. I can’t. I wake the fuck up and get shit done. Sometimes I want to quit my job and run far, far away, but I can’t.

Then my inner Wonder Woman kicks me right in the hymen and I get back up, tired as fuck, and I juggle my kid, my career, my divorce, my new roommate Mom — who also just got divorced from my dad after 43 years — and my elderly doggie.

I’ve recently found that a key to managing life’s labor is by dropping toxic people. I’ve got Toxic Drop Syndrome, and it doesn’t involve a she-mop jammed up my sex hole for too long. It’s a good feeling to pull dirty people out of your lives, toss them like an overstuffed super-plus tampon and replace them with quality humans.

So, Hillary, yes. If we want to get shit done, the best way is to ask a busy woman. Just maybe give me a month to recover.

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