The father-to-be

It can’t be easy to live with me right now.  I have easily spent the last few weeks caught up in my own little world of worries, tiredness and a squiffy feeling that’s not quite nausea.  It’s already a different world from our evenings before the pregnancy.  We would spend the summer evenings outside, me with a glass of Chardonnay and he with a cigarette, deconstructing our days and gazing at the songbirds in the sky or into each others’ eyes. 

I have thought recently what a lonely time it must be for him.  I have all my body changes and pregnancy-tracking iPhone apps to keep me busy between frequent naps.  My schedule is generally to wake early, feeling great.  Slowly descend into a tired funk throughout the day and end up nodding off on the sofa immediately after eating dinner.  He is left watching the DVD we picked out together as I snore blissfully.  I’m there but he is essentially alone as I sail through the evenings like a pregnant zombie.  He wakes me, with great difficulty at about 10pm so I can brush my teeth and head to bed for more sleep.

I also have the goods, so to speak.  I mean, the little tyke is with me.  I get the 9 months of him/her all to myself.  I get to, for lack of a more imaginative word, bond.  The two of us, without him.  The poor man is practically a sperm donor when I think of how much fun this must all be for him.  In the animal kingdom, all the seemingly strange practices animals have adopted in reproduction suddenly seem inspired.  After all, if I could have mated with him and then ate him, I wouldn’t be staring down his forlorn looking face each evening when I am roused from my first slumber on the sofa to cart myself off to bed for round two.  Or if he was the male lion of the pride, there would be others to keep him busy and happy.

But then I would be missing out on something fabulous.  Something beyond the logic of evolution and survival of the fittest.  That man has a nonsensical and unreasonable love, both for me and the unnamed embryo that is simply amazing.  We have had matching anxiety dreams, each of being on an island with each other and tolerating the other wanting to do something that feels uncomfortable.  But in our dreams we each go along with it, despite our better judgement, because it’s what the other wants. 

As I prop my eye lids open to write, he cooks a chilli packed full of vegetables for me, and also for baby so-and-so’s growing little body.  There is no reason why he should want to, except love.