Male Pregnancy
IVF success! After a million pregnancy tests Mikael officially had a pregnant wife and was not demoted from slightly important to completely useless...

I feel pregnant

Time had a long time ago turned into a countdown clock. How many other areas in life do you go to the trouble of counting down week by week? We had 18 weeks to go, according to this new way to measure time, when Jennifer finally stated that she felt pregnant for the first time. She was sitting in the couch, with her legs folded underneath her, her hands around her belly and an enigmatic smile on her lips.

“What about the super-size-me ovaries?” I asked, not really understanding what she meant. “Or the morning sickness?”

“I don’t mean feel sick,” she answered. “I mean feel like there is something growing inside of me.”

Her reply raised another more important question. Did I feel pregnant? Over the past weeks I had felt increasingly removed from the pregnancy. I knew what was happening and I’m sure all men go through this in varying degrees during the first pregnancy; the slow realization that I didn’t matter. Here I was sitting next to my wife who at the moment was nurturing a child within her. By merely being, she was creating a life. My contribution to the pregnancy at this point was giving foot rubs.

I found this frustrating. I wanted to be part of the pregnancy as much as I could, but there just wasn’t any way for me to take part. I was like the guy who cleaned Tiger Wood’s shoes; close to the miracle, but not close enough to claim any real part in it. At the end of the day, I was giving foot rubs and he was cleaning shoes.

I held on, but I was the supporting act to the main event, and it grated on me. I had been plutoed[1].

I believe men in general don’t deal well in situations like this. We want to perform. We want to produce results. We end up having to take on an attitude to deal with it, or at least I did. It was the only thing I could do to stay sane. I flip flopped between the proud father-to-be and the indifferent husband who behaved as if he’d been through this hundreds of times before.

I laid my ear against Jennifer’s stomach as a typical proud father-to-be, hoping to get some sign from the little one in there, but no luck. And then immediately flip-flopped and asked in typical indifferent husband style:

"So what are you making me for dinner?"

"I'm making you a baby," she answered, "that'll have to be enough for now. Give me a foot rub."

[1] to pluto/be plutoed: to demote or devalue someone or something, as happened to the former planet Pluto when the General Assembly of the International Astronomical Union decided Pluto no longer met its definition of a planet.