So now what? You've knocked her up, well done bro.
You'll want to share the exciting news, right? Now, regardless of your relationship with your mother up until this point in your life, the first person your fingers will dial is your old lady, don't ask me why, it just seems to happen. So, you're on the phone to your mom, shes on the phone to her mom and if by some bizarre cosmic reaction, the now expectant grannies will be transformed into living, breathing how-to-eat-sleep-work out the sex-sleep pregnancy encyclopedias. Sure, moms intentions are good, but to maintain sanity, extract the info that you need only. That first phone call is guaranteed to end with this pearler: "Don't tell anyone about this until the 3 month mark, darling!" Huh? What? Why? Well its a reality, miscarriages are common, but you're so flipping excited that you're going to tell your friends, work colleagues, postman, car guard, but as long as you tell each person "Hey, its early days, so don't tell anyone, ok?" everything will be fine.
So, the countdown has begun, nine months until an alien arrives.
Over this period of time, everything changes.
At first, very subtle changes, books on pregnancy appear, where they come from and why anyone would require 15 varieties of "what to expect when you're expecting" is beyond me. Eating habits change. When your princess actually manages to hold down a meal, her appetite which once rivalled that of a hummingbird, will now have the magnitude of that weird Asian hotdog eating champion. Most women rely on a sneaky diet of cigarettes, chewing gum, coffee and lettuce, take 3 of those away and well.....its not pretty. Now you as the unsuspecting schmuck will also suffer around the waistline, there's probably some pseudo-psycho name for this like husband-comfort-pregnancy-eating, be warned! Of course the bonus to the weight gain and the females hormone change is the increased boob size, those puppies are gonna get massive (awesome) this would be great if you're allowed to touch them/her, but seeing as she now considers her body as a sacred-baby-carrying-temple, don't even think about it (sucks). Shnookie-pie's normally carefree attitude (hey, I'm just generalizing) regarding the little things around the house will also start to change (understatement) its called the nesting instinct or some shit like that, its hectic.
so, your chicks become a fat, puking, anal-retentive, untouchable bitch. awesome hey? don't forget to tell her that shes radiant and glowing (everyone she bumps into (excuse the pun) will).
Ok, so you're freaking out, that's cool, salvation awaits in the form of my 2 personal favourites, the gynae visit and the motherfucker of them all : THE ANTE-NATAL CLASS!
I have a dream, one day I'll bump into the sadist that conjured up the concept of anxious, neurotic couples, who are complete strangers, thrown into evening (fuck me!) classes where the most gruesome, intricate details of child birth will discussed, analyzed and even (and this is where I fainted in front of everyone) viewed, on a 40 inch plasma, in high definition.
I like to think that its all marshmallows and candy-floss inside the human body, I pass out during blood tests, I do not need to have someone explain things that are called: "braxton-hicks, breaching, bloody-show (my personal favourite).
The gynae-visit, wow, what a mind-fuck. sitting in the waiting room, talking in hushed tones. your chick waddles off to the loo to piss in a cup and you're left flipping through pregnancy magazines hoping theres a hot chick modelling fold down bras. Then, into the room you go, I would start off sitting on a chair, less distance to fall when the good doctor starts going into detail about my wife's vagina (I would like someone to please explain to me how they let men become gynaecologists? I can picture some med kids sitting around their dorm room, "I want to look at pussy all day so I'm gonna become a gynae).
So, as the calender counts down, the books have been read, the room is prepared, hospital bag is packed. Take this advice: Go to the movies, a lot. Will your lives change when baby comes? You have no fucking idea!
Next: Part 3, the big day.
