About This Blog

Rated P is a sketch comedy musical about parenthood celebrating the wonders & lunacy of raising kids from conception to college. This blog, written by Rated P's author & lyricist, Sandy Rustin, offers up a humorous and heartfelt look at the nitty gritty business of parenting.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Lego Land

There has been some recent discussion in cyberspace about which hurts more; childbirth or stepping barefoot on a lego.

Full disclosure: I am a huge fan of these kinds of debates.  Playing "Would You Rather" took up much of my time from 1994-1998 and I am left with a residual love for nonsensical comparisons without scientific evidence.  For example, would you rather your nose be a ketchup dispenser or a pencil sharpener?  Ahhhh!  Who wouldn't want easy access to ketchup, but don't I more often wish my pencil were just a little pointier?  What to choose?!

When I first heard the birthing/lego conundrum, I was tickled.  When my oldest son was born, I had a very visual image of the pain.  It seemed to me that a little man, a troll really, had made his gnome home in my uterus.  I pictured him washing his dishes with my intestines.  He was really scrubbing.  "Oh, this old intestine," that demon would say, "watch how it gets all the gristle out of this pan!"  When the dishes were done, and I was already more breathless  and sweaty than I had imagined possible, that damn ogre decided to dry those dishes.  He took hold of my abdominal muscles and shined up his silverware - ringing out my insides with his bare, calloused hands, every 30 seconds or so until at last, my husband screamed "I see the head!" 

So to me, the current debate sounds more like - Would you rather a hairy, mean troll does the dishes with your guts for hours on end until a 7 pound human emerges from a hole slightly larger than a nostril OR would you rather step on a little piece of plastic for a second and yell "ouch!" 

No brainer.

This morning, I stepped on a lego.

All bets are off, folks.  That shit hurts.  And I was wrong, it's not just second, and I didn't yell "ouch."  I swore like a NJ Transit passenger after the Rangers lose at Madison Square Garden.  The sharp twinge went straight to my core as I broke out in a cold sweat.  I was down for the count - on all fours - and no one was by my side to give me ice chips or tell me that I was doing great.  That bastard of a green diagonally pointed 4 topper of a lego gave my "childbirth" theory a run for its money.

My friends, the debate has legs.  If I had to choose right now which is worse - I think I'd pick that frickin' lego.  At least when the ladyparts goblin is done ... you get a baby.  All I got from the lego is a limp.


  1. I haven't birthed a baby, so my comment, I'm sure, will be immediately vetoed. But I've been in the room when my wife has given birth and I've been in the room when my wife has stepped on a Lego. And she definitely agonized longer about the Lego. She was a trooper in childbirth and after being induced, practice-pushed the baby out. But there's no practicing stepping on Legos. Or is there?

    1. The only way I know of to practice stepping on a lego, is to allow your child to play with them right before bed, strewing them every which way on the floor. Then, turn out the lights. Every time you have to go back in for "one more kiss" or a "drink of water" you will gain practice.