I’m unbelievably excited MJ is pregnant. But make no mistake, my exuberance is focused on the end result in September. A healthy baby boy or girl who I can dote on, smother with love and show off to the masses like the proud papa I will surely be.
However, I am not excited about this current stage of pregnancy known as the first trimester. Or as I’m calling it: HELL! If you haven’t experienced the joys of living with a pregnant woman, I’m not sure I can do it justice with my meager words. But I’ll try.
A husband’s role during this time is equivalent to getting a job as a lion tamer. Or technically in this case, a lioness tamer. Only you don’t get a stool and a whip to defend yourself, and the lioness is constantly starving and ready to tear you apart at any moment. Even though you’ve lived with the lioness for years and established a wonderful relationship, this pregnant Queen of the Jungle no longer cares. She has massive cramps as her body literally stretches and adapts in order to sustain new life, and the only thing going through the lioness’ head is “YOU DID THIS TO ME YOU BASTARD!”
The lioness also experiences heightened senses during the first trimester. Namely, her sense of smell will be fine-tuned and turned up to 11. The crazy thing is it’s not even foul smells that turn her stomach or cause her discomfort. My lioness, for example, can’t stand the smell of strawberry yogurt all of a sudden. So even though I think I’m innocently enjoying some breakfast, MJ stands next to me while dramatically heaving and making a gesture like she’s about to throw up in her hand. Although I’ve done nothing wrong in simply wanting to eat my breakfast, I know I’m about to become the subject of the lioness’ wrath as she tears me apart with her fangs.
Not to mention the fact I was sick lately. I even had to stay home a day from work, which is a rarity for me. I had no voice and I couldn’t stop coughing. Instead of feeling bad for me, I was banished to the couch so I wouldn’t get MJ sick. I wasn’t allowed to even go near her, and if she had her way I would’ve been in a haz-mat suit. And even though I complied with her demands, she still got sick. Because we share a 1,100-square-foot living space. Now I’m catching hell for her cold. Excuse me for breathing.
But the first trimester is not without benefits.
Pregnant females are said to have a “glow” when they find out they are expecting. This is not just an old wives tale. Your lioness will become even more beautiful than ever. Her coat (skin if you’re not liking the lioness metaphor) will take on a gorgeous tone and any blemishes that were once there seem to clear right up. Her mane (hair) gets thicker, fuller and more luscious as well. I’ve been told there are even improvements to a woman’s fingernails.
But if you’re a red-blooded American male like myself, the most noticeable change is mammary-related.
Yup, that’s right. The boobs get HUGE! All of a sudden A-cups turn to Cs, B-cups become Ds and everything else bumps up to Dolly Parton levels. Basically your wife is suddenly stretching the limits of all her bras and sporting porn star cleavage on a regular basis. It’s every guy’s dream right? WRONG.
Listen guys, I love boobs. And when they become engorged and they’re sitting right in front of you—calling to you in all of their robust glory—it’s only natural for you to have certain thoughts. Wonderful appealing thoughts. Thoughts involving a motorboat.
DON’T DO IT!!!
If you touch those boobs that lioness will eat your balls. Look, I know how unfair that is to guys. All of a sudden Pam Anderson’s magnificent milk balloons have landed on your wife’s chest. They’re taunting you, calling to you, and you know they’re fleeting due to the pregnancy so it’s only fair and just that you be able to, you know, do stuff to em. I get it.
But herein lies the cruelest part of the first trimester. The look-but-don’t-you-dare-fucking-touch conundrum surrounding the inflated chesticles. To guys they are glorious funbags, but they’re incredibly sensitive and downright painful for a pregnant woman. She’s already pissed off that none of her bras fit and you won’t buy her any new ones, so if you compound that problem by putting your grubby little perverted hand anywhere near those boobs, you’re going to get hurt.
Sorry guys, but these are the rules.
The best advice I have for you is to keep your angry, crampy, emotional lioness as satisfied as possible at all costs. If she mentions a craving, pick it up on the way home. It might have changed in the two hours between the phone call and your arrival at home, but that’s OK. It shows her you were listening. Just go out and get the next thing she wants. And for God’s sake, keep your lioness fed. That is Rule #1 when dealing with a pregnant woman. Always have food on hand, never get between her and food and don’t get too close to her when she is eating, lest she thinks you’re trying to hone in on her lunch.
And don’t even think about sex. She’s so uncomfortable at this point and the only thing she knows for sure is that sex—and by that rationale, you—is the reason she feels like this in the first place. If you’re lucky things will settle down in the second trimester and you can get your fix, but in the meantime just think of yourself as a sex camel. You’re in the desert now. And you’re alone.
Stay safe out there.