Everybody knows a woman who has a C-section is just taking the easy way out of labor and childbirth. In fact, many go so far as to say she didn’t really give birth at all. If a woman can get pregnant, she can give birth naturally. It’s science.

Women who have C-sections are just choosing not to give birth the right way. Which is why, if you’ve chosen to have a C-section (because it’s always a choice) instead of breaking your vagina by passing a baby through it, you haven’t actually given birth. You’ve taken the easy way out. And you’re also not a real woman.

Real women break their vaginas the way God intended.

I should know because I am also not a real woman. I took the easy way out. I chose to have three C-sections, and let me tell you, they were each a cakewalk.

To be fair, I tried to let my first baby break my vagina. I really did. But his damn head was so big, he couldn’t fit past my pelvis, and after fourteen hours of hard labor, the doctor stepped in, spent an hour elbow-deep in my honey pot trying to make way for the baby, and concluded I was definitely not a real woman.

She and her team wheeled me back to the operating room—that’s where women who aren’t real go to “give birth”—and delivered that baby themselves. And I was like, THANK GOD, because here I had suffered through a day’s worth of excruciating labor, and finally, someone recognized I wasn’t real and offered me the easy way out.

Whew. That was a close one. I almost had to do it the hard way. (Because there can only be one hard way to do something. Everybody also knows that.)

The second time I chose to have a C-section, my baby was macrosomic, and on the advice of a different doctor who also recognized I wasn’t real, I scheduled my surgery for a week before my due date. The doctor determined that if the first baby wouldn’t fit through my vagina, neither would this one.

Unfortunately, my second baby mistook me for a real woman and decided he wanted to be born before my scheduled C-section date, so off to the hospital I went, where I waited four hours in hard labor until an operating room opened up, suffered through a traumatic surgery where there were complications, and couldn’t visit my baby in the NICU because I had to remain tied to my hospital bed after surgery.

It was so easy! Not being a real woman is definitely the way to go.

The third time I chose to have a C-section, I wound up in the hospital at 36 weeks because the baby and I were both tachycardic and I was experiencing non-progressive labor. (Non-progressive labor is my jam.)

I spent a week there, where I enjoyed all kinds of easy stuff like not being allowed to eat solid foods, blowing up like a pufferfish from being hooked to an IV for seven days, and enduring contractions that lasted up to 25 minutes each before the baby finally reached the magical thirty-seven week mark and they had to take him out of me via C-section.

At first, I was super bummed that the party was over. It was so easy that I wanted it to last forever, this puking into kidney-shaped bed pans and being awoken every hour from what little sleep I was already getting to change positions in order to help the baby’s heart rate.

But then my disappointment turned to elation. I was tickled because just when I thought my run at taking the easy way out was over, I got to spend FOUR HOURS in an operating room while the doctors hack-sawed their way through my scar tissue and the nurse anesthetist placed alcohol swabs under my nose so I didn’t have to endure the smell of my own burning flesh as they repeatedly cauterized my exposed innards.

Gosh, I really miss those days. But the time has come to admit to what many already know: having a C-section is taking the easy way out. It’s not childbirth; it’s vacation. And we had a good run while it lasted.

So ladies, if you, like me, are not real women and chose to take the easy way out with a C-section or three, the jig is up. Everybody’s on to us. Might as well follow my lead and own it.