Mary in the stable

Just watching the Nativity scene in my local town square, I was struck by how bare it looked. Having given birth myself once, and I do say once because it was so painful and distressing, I never done it again, I was shocked at how serene Mary always looks.

Personally I would be thoroughly gutted, that after giving birth to the most important child in all millennia, the only visitors I received were a trio of Kings bringing totally useless gifts, not one women pops in with a hot mug of tea and a couple of pain killing tinctures.

It was bad enough for Mary having to go through a painful labour (She was a virgin as well, that stuff would have hurt) amongst straw and some farmyard animals, but to have to entertain guests without as much as a shower first, must have been horrendous. How does she remain that peaceful and happy looking, I personally couldn’t sit down for a week and don’t even ask me how my boobs felt, as to describe that would involve a flip chart and an over head projector.

Now let’s look at the gifts, only men would bring such obscure objects. It seems even back in those days; men still didn’t know the protocol of presents for a new born. Today’s fathers and men friends still turn up to see a new baby bearing flowers, balloon animals and fluffy toys, all of which are useless to the point of stupidity.

What every woman needs immediately after any birth, is

1. Big knickers that hug under your boobs.

2. Giant sanitary pads with at least a 10.5 tog rating.

3. Maternity bra with supporting straps that could dock a ship.

4. Clean towels, favourite shower gel and moisturiser

5. Drugs supplied by Keith Richards.

Mary (I don’t know her surname, does anyone? Does Jesus have a surname?) anyway Jesus’ mother Mary, must have been made of steely stuff, Joseph (her man) wasn’t that bright to start with, dragging a heavily pregnant woman to what can only be described as Vegas, Bethlehem was at its busiest time.

He never booked ahead, he didn’t plan for the birth, and he shoved her onto a donkey during the early stages of her labour, gave her a pat of the rump and headed off into the desert. She calmly agreed and headed off to Bethlehem.

At that point, I would have kicked his head and turned up in Bethlehem alone, screaming and demanding a doctor, after all this was no ordinary child that was about to be born.
Mary must have literally been an actual Saint. If it were me, there would have been swearing, bitching and at least some Joseph bashing with the local chicks round the waterhole.

But not for Mary, she calmly accepted her fate; she serenely smiled through labour pains with a beatific smile.
She simply cleaned up behind her, washed her own child, combed her hair, washed her face and pulled the blue scarf around her head and got on with job as being Jesus’ mammy. Then accepted the clumsy gifts from the strange blokes, who came to visit and thus showed up all us women as bleating, screaming whingers who couldn’t handle a contraction, thanks for that Mary!