I'm a pretty typical dad. I love my wife. I adore my kids. I have breasts and a 33-pound pregnant belly...
Okay, I have some explaining to do.
Four years ago, my wife and I found ourselves nervously heading for the hospital and impending parenthood. My grandiose job during the epidural was to hold my wife's hands - which I did superbly until I crumpled to the floor seconds later. I awoke to the bellow "We've got a daddy down!" and a barrage of nurses trying to revive me, as my concerned wife still waited for her needle.
We left the hospital with not only a new daughter, but new insight to the dangers of mixing exhaustion and pre-packaged hospital pastries with the critical task of holding one's wife's hands.
My reputation preceded me when we returned to the hospital two years later for my son's birth. This time my duties were simply to sit in a comfy chair and watch. I heroically avoided impending unconsciousness until a nurse caught me white-faced and sweating profusely. Suddenly all attention was on me. Again. My wife just glared and thought, "You've got to be f***ing kidding me! What is wrong with him?!"
Therein lies the source of my guilt. That drive to redeem myself - to show my wife I can empathize. And to try and figure out why that part of fatherhood affects me like krypton affects Superman.
So on April 13th, I put on a 33-pound pregnancy suit with the goal of wearing it until Mother's Day.
To avoid accusations that it was just a publicity stunt, I decided to become a pregnant dad in private only - at home and at the office. I know it's a pale comparison to what it's really like - but I approached it humbly with a simple desire to understand a bit of what women must go through.
After just a few weeks, I grew lethargic, impatient, and cranky from lack of sleep. I had trouble putting on my own socks. My hip hurt. And where once I was like a camel, the steel balls that weighed down my new belly and pressed on my bladder had me peeing more often than my dog on his daily walk. I couldn't imagine feeling trapped in this lifestyle 24/7, for nine months.
But then, miraculously, my body actually seemed to begin adapting to its newfound format| just like (gulp) a woman's does. My balance improved. I slept better. My muscles developed to handle the extra shape and weight. I regained my energy - and adopted a much better outlook.
Whether I emerged on Mother's Day from a catharsis isn't clear. However, I did come away with a little more insight into the new mom experience and if I'm lucky - the ability to stand on my own two feet in the delivery room.
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