The man (as I think I've said before) has it easy in this pregnancy carry on. We are
literally only responsible for shooting our seed in the general direction of
the egg; after that we could piss off for nine months until the child is born.
Of course that would make us horrible human beings and I’d like to think that
most men are around for the long haul. Even at that though, it’s pretty simple
going for the man in the relationship. Women, beautiful complex creatures that
they are, are the ones who really shoulder the hardship that comes along with
bringing a baby into this world. Here’s just a few of the things I’ve
experienced, heard of, or become more accustomed to during this pregnancy:
- Discharge
Did that word make you squirm? No? How about if I stick
another word in front of it? Vaginal discharge. It made me retch just typing
that. Those two words are horrible enough on their own, together they’re an
amalgamation of bleurgh and yuck. At every doctor or midwife visit they’ll ask
you if you’ve had any. The woman, I mean. I’d start to worry if they ask you, for
a myriad of reasons. Thankfully there’s never been any of note aside from the
usual apparently – I don’t even know what ‘the usual’ means and I don’t think I
want to – but the fact that it’s a thing is enough to make me glad I’m not the
one that’s pregnant.
- Tenderness
According to my wife during pregnancy your boobs gets a
little sore and tender, due to your pregnant body preparing them for the
journey from funbags into feedbags. I’d imagine this is a little uncomfortable
as they also get bigger and more engorged. Now, naturally, I’m not going to
complain that my wife’s already ample bosom is getting larger but my wife will.
And has. The funny thing is though every so often and completely out of the
blue she pipes up with ‘my tits are sore’ which has caused me to dub her Sore
Tits McGee. A name which you’d think would get less funny after (literally) dozens
of instances of me saying it, but it hasn’t lost its hilarity yet.
- Milk
Slightly related point here. When you’re close to the end of
the pregnancy the engorging process begins as the breasticles start to fill up
with milk. Jenny has been regaling me of tales of how sometimes a tiny drop
milk will seep out of her nipples, and that sometimes she squeezes her own boob
and some comes squirting out. This whole process freaks me out and seems really
weird without a baby suckling on the end of her teat. But every now and again
she asks me if I want to see her doing it, I - obviously - say no, she starts
to do it anyway, and I run out of the room screaming like a girl while Jenny
chases me, boobs in hand. [Okay, that last bit is a lie.]
- Pee sticks
Surely we’ve evolved to a point where the best way to
determine whether or not you’re pregnant is something more than peeing on a bit
of glorified pH paper? Well, apparently not. Our house was coming down with
these pre-bump; just sitting on bedside tables, cluttering up the shelves in
the bathroom and I’m pretty sure the cat was walking around with one in his
mouth for a while. It’s literally a stick that you piss on. But I can imagine
it’s not the most ladylike of devices to use as the potentially pregnant woman,
squatting over the toilet holding the stick in your hand, trying to pee on it
without the male benefit of directing your stream and likely peeing all over
your hand in the process. Although after Jenny was satisfied that she was up
the duff, I used the remaining one for a laugh and apparently I’m up the duff
too.
- Peeing
Another related(ish) point here. My wife ran to the toilet
quite often even when she wasn’t pregnant. She has the bladder of a small
child. However now that she actually has a small child standing on her own
bladder, trips to the toilet have become ever more frequent. And because being
pregnant sort of hampers your mobility she has to almost anticipate when she
going to need to pee so that she makes it up the stairs in time before an
accident happens. I’m also reliably informed that it’s more or less the same
for number two’s. There’s only so much room in a belly for a child and if
he/she starts stretching something going to have to come out. And it’s not going
to be baby. o
- Internal Examinations
You know how many people have stuck things up me? Six.
That’s a joke (it’s waaaay more), but I would probably need all my fingers on
both my hands - I already wish that I’d used a different counting method to
illustrate this point - to tally up how many people have been all up in my
wife. Since she’s been pregnant, mind. Doctors, nurses, midwifes and the like.
I know women have these kinds of tests done semi-regularly, but when your
missus is pregnant every bugger and their dog wants a poke. In fact it seems
like the only person that hasn’t been up in there of late is me.
- Stretch marks
These are a thing, apparently. Jenny has been lucky enough
not to really get any, but that’s probably because she’s been liberally
applying moisturiser and baby oil to her belly region for months now. So much
so that if I laid a hand on her belly I might slip off the other side and off the
bed.
- Domestic abuse
No, they don’t ask you to beat your wife, but rather on your
first few visits they take the pregnant lady in a few minutes before the man
and ask if this was a planned pregnancy or if I, the man, was forcing you to
bear him children. Like it’s medieval times or something. Although thinking
about it, it was probably for the best. If I were in there when she asked those
questions I’d have probably got all uncomfortable and answered questions with a
joke in a misguided attempt to break the tension.
Nurse: So, are there any problems at home? You’re not a
victim of domestic abuse, are you?
Me: Only when she doesn’t do the dishes, AMIRITE? Hive five!
Oh, hello there officer.
- Offputting similarities
If you ever see a pregnant woman naked* try not a compare
the mid section area to anything else, because for the life of me I can’t see
anything other than a noseless Homer Simpson anymore. I’ll let you work out
which bits are what.
*it is a rather glorious thing FYI. Bump and all, a woman
never looks more…womanly. It’s pretty awesome. Homer aside.
That’s all I can think of for now.
Ta-ra
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