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Melvin's blog
Nshima & Curry
Melvin's Blog
Nshima & Curry
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SHARING THE PRIVILEGES OF PREGNANCY
In recent years, it has become trendy for men with expectant
wives to say, "We're pregnant." It's their way of sharing
the pregnancy, being part of the wonderful experience. I've
never tried this, because my wife would quickly put me in my
place: "I'm pregnant. You, my dear, are just a spectator."
Indeed, I feel more like a spectator than anything else --
though the instructor at our childbirth classes keeps
calling me a "coach." I'm supposed to coach my wife when
she's in labor. I can't even coach her when she's in
ecstasy. I have no coaching experience whatsoever. Couldn't
we hire Phil Jackson or someone?
Truth is, I want to be more than just a coach or spectator.
I want to be pregnant. The world's first pregnant man.
Yes, I want to have a big stomach. I want to wear maternity
clothes. I want to walk like Daffy Duck.
Don't get me wrong. I don't want to actually bear a child,
unless I can get someone else to bear the pain. I just want
to carry the baby around for several months before birth,
while my wife caters to my every need. "Honey, this
pregnancy is stressing me out," I'd say. "I really need to
relax. Can we watch some football tonight? Perhaps you can
rub my feet, too, as soon as you've finished massaging my
back."
Yes, I want to enjoy the privileges of pregnancy, as
described recently in BabyTalk magazine. I want to walk onto
a bus and ask a man to give up his seat for me. If he
hesitates and asks, "Why?" I want to look right into his
eyes and say, "Because I could pop a baby any moment and
don't want to do it standing up! Is that a good enough
reason for you?"
I want to ask my mail carrier to bring the letters right up
to my door. If he complains that he has a lot of mail to
deliver, I want to point to my belly and say, "How would
you like to deliver a baby instead?"
I want to have cravings, dozens of cravings I have no
control over. I want to order pizza seven days in a row --
and just for breakfast. I want to have ice cream for lunch,
gulab jamuns for dinner, and steak for a midnight snack. If
my wife says I'm eating too much, I want to reply, "Stop
complaining. I'm not eating all this food for myself. I'm
eating for the baby. If I don't eat more pizza, the baby
might starve. Do you want that to happen?"
I want to park in the "expectant mothers" spot at my local
grocery store, so I can rush in and get whatever I'm
craving. I want to ask the store clerk to carry my
groceries to the car, because I'm already carrying quite
a load.
I want strangers to ask me when I'm due and if it's a boy or
girl. I want to enjoy the shame on their faces when I say,
"I'm NOT pregnant. I've just been eating pizza for
breakfast."
Of course, all these privileges are nothing compared to the
hardships of childbirth, as any woman would rightfully tell
you. It's just another reason to appreciate mothers. They
may enjoy a few privileges along the way, but in the end
we're the ones who should feel privileged.
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