Does my bum look big in this?
PAUSE. Woah. What. The. Fuck. This is a defining moment in any relationship. But you have to be quick. Any hesitation, no matter what you say, boy you dead.
In reality you have two choices; life or death. Its obvious that your partner will be getting plump due to the bun she’s baking, but you still want to reassure her that she is as beautiful as ever. For the first few months its best to play it safe and deny, deny, deny. But there’s only so much denying you can do before her response goes from being “aww thanks” to “why can’t you just be fucking honest”.
This is a catch-22 moment (google if necessary).
She can see herself that her clothes are busting at the seams and oversized shirts become crop-tops. So how do you get yourself out of this hell hole? I like to think of myself as a Chandler Bing when in stressful situations and try to make a poorly timed joke to nothing but the sounds of crickets. I took my shot and God blessed me with a miracle response…
“How can you be so beautiful, and so fat at the same time?”
Silence. And then wouldn’t you know it, she laughed. Holy sweet little baby Jesus, something saved my ass. Humour. That was the paddle I was thrown when I was up shit creek.
PLEASE NOTE: Do Not Try At Home.
Hormonally, she is riding one hell of a rollercoaster without a seatbelt so tread lightly with what jokes you want to crack, especially the timing. As time passes she will begin to be less worried about HER appearance and more about the miracle she’s making. To those men who have survived this line of questioning – fair play. To those that haven’t yet – Good luck!
BLOOD. GUTS. SCREAMS.
Is this the literary scene of a graphic Steven King novel? Think again. These are the words used to describe the events that unfold behind the greyish steel door of a delivery room. What on earth seems appealing about being a spectator to this madness. From Jeanette, I have always been given the idea that I’m mostly in the way. Why would I want to be the 6ft2” broad shouldered useless body blocking surgeons armed with clamps held by bloodied gloves?
My dad used to use the saying “in for a penny, in for a pound’ – if I’m going in on this pregnancy its going to be 100% of me. I vowed to not miss one doctor’s appointment, check up or jordmor (directly translated to Earthmother or more commonly known as midwife) meeting. Does the birth itself count? Unfortunately, it seems like it. I imagine myself dressed up like a neeky 7th grader in chemistry class. White lab coat, talc covered gloves and scratched-to-fuck science goggles to protect my eyes from the flying blood splatters and placenta. But it turns out, thanks to google, that it’s a lot more humane than that. The task asks for a lot of counting-out-loud and synchronised breathing techniques, as well as the vice gripped hand holding. I can do that. Crowning, I cannot. Sounds regal doesn’t it. But read the first three words again…
Crowning: kraʊn (of a baby’s head during labour) fully appear in the vaginal opening prior to emerging.
At this point in the labour, the doctor delivering the baby asks if the father would like to have a look…”Nah you’re alright mate, I’ll take your word for it” will be the swift reply. Once the blood-soaked nurse hands over our mucus-covered little girl the day will be just a horror movie scene memory.
I’m planning on completely winging what I do on the day, but all I know is I’ll be with her every step of the way.
How to stay alive long enough to see the birth of your child
In the animal kingdom there is a shitload of incredible and astounding paths of life that some creatures travel down, some not so different to those of humans. For instance, a cow has the same gestation period as us human beings. Interesting. Also, the female Chinese Mantis eats its mate just after coitus, which is also how it feels to be us men sometimes. Doesn’t sound like such a bad way to go compared to some of ‘those’ days that you will experience with having a pregnant girlfriend/wife. I’d really like to stick around to see the birth of my daughter, and for that to happen and not get mauled to death, I have listed a few pointers which I am willing to share to save those in need.
Marco’s Survival Tips:
Tip 1: stock the God damn fridge
If your better half is feeling peckish and you don’t have anything for her to eat, your head is sure gonna start looking tasty to her. Whatever her craving may be, there is nothing wrong with buying 5 boxes of cheese dippers. Last week when I was queuing up at the supermarket with my basket full of these incredibly delectable goods, a middle aged man noticed my stash and gave me the ‘nod’. He knew exactly what I was going through.
Tip 2: beauty is the key
For us men, pregnancy isn’t that much of a strain on our bodies. We may feel like we are eating for two also, but that’s just us being greedy bastards. For the female in question, her body is changing DRASTICALLY. Self-confidence is at an all-time low and her clothes begin to shorten and fit just that tiny bit tighter. Three words my good men; You look beautiful. This doesn’t seem like a lot to us, but to them it can turn their whole day around.
Tip 3: Yes man
Pregnancy doesn’t only change the woman physically, but it tends to dissolve some of their brains and fuse also. With this being said, your wife may have the tendency to forget a few trivial/vital things during this course, and its all your fault. It is your duty to agree to do almost anything and everything that is presented to you and to also take the lead with as many things as you can. Lighten her load, because she’s carrying yours.
If there are any guys out there who also want to share some life saving tips leave a comment. We are in this together.
Danish. A north Germanic language spoken by around 6 million people, principally in Denmark. It is also ranked in the top 15 most difficult languages to learn. Perfect, just perfect. Like living in Denmark wasn’t hard enough for a foreigner, the language just kicks you when you’re down. Luckily for me the majority of Danes can spit a few Danglish words my way and it makes relatively little sense, but enough to get by. The Danish government try to tackle this problem for us foreigners by offering FREE Danish classes. Not just a handful either, but a WHOLE YEAR…and continued free education if you pass the end of year exam. Impressive stuff Danish Government, impressive stuff. So where do I sign up?
Here actually 😉
Back to school
I remember the first day of classes as if it was yesterday. A new backpack packed to the brim with binders, booklets, dictionaries and more. A kiss on the forehead from the wife and I was off into the unknown. The classes were to take place in the International House, an enormous building that not only has offices (used for job searching for ‘new Danes’) and classrooms, it also houses a few dozen overseas students. After walking up 12 flights of stairs and breaking a sweat I was greeted by an equally exhausted eager student, Leri. We clicked almost instantly, maybe due to our athletic backgrounds (although originally from Georgia, Leri competed at the World Championships in figure skating) or for our humour in realising how difficult this Dansk was going to be to learn.
Higgledy piggledy, potato throat
The class was stacked with over 20 keen fresh faced outsiders but throughout the course of the year, more and more empty seats were available. Whether it was down to personal issues or the struggles of at lære Dansk, people were dropping like flies. At first it was hard to find a seat, now there were enough to put our bags/feet on, but through it all Leri and I stuck together. We completed our first end of year module exam and PASSED! WHOOP WHOOP! Sadly, for me, Leri moved away to coach figure skating in the Netherlands where his new found education in Danish means squat-diddly-piss. As for me, I have enrolled in continuing learning this higgledy piggledy, potato throat, yodelling bollocks of a language for at least another year, or for as long as it takes me to comfortably order a beer without my voice breaking.