I love to eat hospital food just like I find room service at a hotel orgasmic.
Just thinking about pudding cups, individual servings of coffee and sterile wrapped pastries makes my mouth water and my breath slow.
I am equally passionate about sterile starched sheets that you will find in hospital suites and upscale hotels. I also enjoy individually wrapped rolls of toilet paper lined up like paper soldiers waiting for my use. These tissue soldiers stand at attention under white stiff and sanitary bath linens.
With the push of a button or the dial of a number I can beckon my room to be cleaned or an extra pillow to be brought.
I have enjoyed the birth of my children with 99% of the reason being unconditional love and the other 1% being the gratification of staying in a hospital room.
No one is looking for me. I can lay in a bed and no one questions why. I am brought food and drink with care only to be asked if I would like more. I can hide while watching Maury Povich or Family Feud eleven times in a row without having to share the remote. I do not have to clean up after a single soul or even worry about my own messes. There isn’t a schedule to be kept or tiny humans to fight with or carry to naps. I can stay up late, sleep in and take naps. I don’t have to shower but when I do no one comes looking for me or stands with their nose pushed against the glass. I have no laundry to wash or fold, along with the absence of dirty dishes or dust. Not to mention no one questions my integrity if I do not answer their call, text or email rather they just leave me alone.
For these euphoric reasons and more, if I were president I would make it mandatory for mothers to have a hospital stay once a month for physical and especially mental health.