Goodbye, Pert Breasts: The Diary of a Newborn Dad

You know when you’re sat on the loo after a particularly challenging steak the night before, and you know it’s going to be a big one, yet you also know that it is inevitable that somehow, at some point, it has to come out, and if it stays in there it’s only going to get bigger? After hours of semi-careful thought, that is the best way that I can think of to describe how Jess must be feeling just a few weeks before the big day.  I mean of course, don’t get me wrong; I’ve never known anyone spend 36 hours doing a poo, and I’d like to think that I eat just enough fruit to avoid tearing anything, but with my vulgar man’s brain it’s the best I can come up with.

As I smirk to myself whilst watching Jess hobble across the living room floor (her back is quite bad today, and so she’s walking like a T-Rex with a broom up it’s bum), I can’t help but feel sorry for what she will have to go through soon. Of course, I’ll be there with her every step of the way, but at the end of the day it won’t be me squatting on the floor ankle deep in weird fluids. This pang of sympathy prompts me to think about making a cup of tea. I don’t. I’m too busy writing this.

And thinking about this.

Jess seems to be having a recurrence of the symptoms that you would only normally see in early pregnancy: nausea, vomiting, nose bleeds. At least, I’d like to think that this is what’s happening, and that these conditions are not as a direct result of marriage to me. It’s all very strange; however, at this point, both you and I have become somewhat immune to the oddities that pregnancy brings. I mean, get this: the other day Jess cried when I asked her if she wanted green tea or normal tea. The decision was literally so mind-blowingly great that it prompted her to burst into tears and sob for a good couple of minutes. Whereas a few months ago I would have been incredibly bemused, I now dispense a few consoling hugs, a peck on the forehead, and attempt to actually get the answer out of her.

"YOU'RE HAVING GREEN!" "NO, I DON'T WANT GREEN! ...Actually yeah, I do want green."

You may be going to antenatal classes around this time – which can be really helpful, dependant upon the midwife leading the group. I remember one class (when we were pregnant with Isaac) where the midwife made all the dads stand up and rock an imaginary baby. Did I learn a lot? Heck yes. I learnt that standing up with a lot of confused and slightly embarrassed men and gently swaying from side to side teaches you very little about childbirth and babies, instead serving only to make you look like a plonker.

By now, your baby (weighing just over a kilo) should be merrily moving around in the uterus it calls home, giving the occasional uppercut or Jean Claude Van Damme-style martial arts kick to your mrs’ internal organs. It is good every now and then for your partner to keep a mental check on your baby’s movements; they say that if it moves fewer than ten times a day, ring your midwife and let them know. It could be something, it could be nothing. I’m a fully grown male with a desk job; I barely move ten times in a week.

As well as punching like Jackie Chan, your foetus is probably about the same size as him.

Fortunately, your child’s head is now in proportion to the rest of it’s body, which means it’ll avoid unnecessary and rather mean teasing at school (I’ll never forget old ‘bobblehead’ in Year Six). The brain can now control primitive breathing and body temperature, and the eyes can look around a bit more. The bone marrow is also now completely in charge of red blood cell production, and your baby is also urinating about half a litre of pee into the amniotic fluid every day, which can’t be pleasant for anyone but has to be done.

Your baby can also sense light, and will turn towards it. This doesn’t mean, however, that you can try and freak out your unborn child by wildly flashing a torch at your mrs’ belly. It won’t work, and is rather mean. It does, however, work on cats.