Had everyone round to my house this morning for the official start of our pregnancy term.

Steve, his wife Kate and son Saul turned up first. Steve armed with a bottle of Cava and a nervous grin.

Jonny and family called to say they were running late as there was a half marathon blocking their way to my house. Jonny had considered doing the marathon in his pregnancy suit. Quite sure he is relieved that he had not committed to that now.

I had tried to connect with my wife and son in Singapore but couldn’t get through. Am guessing they were preparing for Chinese New Year.

Got a real sense of being alone on this now as each family rally around their pregnant dads.

I turned in early and attempted to find the sweet spot for a fine nights sleep. I started on my back but the dumbbell inside my pregnant belly slapped against my Cava filled bladder with every move I made.   Can this be what my wife went through? Actually given how busy my little boy is, I suspect this is exactly what she went through. She is a tougher girl than I am.

It’s the first time I’ve put the pregnancy suit on knowing that it’s here to stay. It’s the first time my fake boobs have annoyed me by sitting lopsided. It’s the first time that there is a considered thought process before the once simple act of sitting down or standing up. The first time while perfectly healthy, going to the toilet leaves me with the dread of the next visit to the toilet. I’ve never before watched ‘Call The Midwife’ and considered it homework. Nor have I ever considered cushions one of the most vital components to my front room. I have had people look at me strangely on public transport before, but never while sober. It’s absolutely the first time that I’ve put myself in the spotlight like this, and the first time that writing a few words has actually left me slightly breathless. Here’s to a few more first times tomorrow.

After 5 hours of wearing the pregnancy suit, initial jubilation (aided by a few drinks, nothing excessive, of course) has worn off and the reality has started to bite, nip and rub.  The velcro straps that support the suit chaff against your neck, the belly itself hangs so low it swings perilously around your mid-groin and to pee you have to hoike the thing up with one hand, pull the fella out with the other and pray you’re not urinating down your leg.  It’s funny that now i’m wearing the suit, my wife’s attitude turned from one of ‘that’s no substitute for my 9 months imprisonment’ to one of bemusement and pity.  I had shortsightedly taken my racing bike to our little ceremony at Jason’s house to avoid the traffic caused by the Barcelona half-marathon. To get vaguely comfortable on the return journey I had to rest the belly on the cross bar and breasts over the handlebars. By the time I was home I was getting used to confused pedestrians double-taking. I waved cheerfully to one lady who put her hand on her mouth muffling a scream, then turned on her heels and disappeared into the metro.

An hour ago I thought this whole bonkers idea would be more embarrassing than physically tough. I imagined life would continue pretty much as normal bar the weird looks and confused questioning by the public. I naively thought I would continue my usual routine of running a couple of times a week and biking or kite-surfing on the weekends. Yes,  it would harder, more challenging,  but I secretly thought it would be good training – like wearing a loaded rucksack or carrying my five-year old son on my shoulders. For a month. Day and night.  In the process I imagined I would gain a deeper understanding and appreciation of what my wife has been through twice and my mother 3 times. No major downside. That was an hour ago, before trying the pregnancy suit on. I’m now having second thoughts. Life will not continue as normal.  It may never be the same again. It’s not so much the 15kg of weight but how it’s distributed: right on your bladder and groin. To make matters worse, something moves inside the belly. A weird alien-like lump of solid resin swings like a embryonic pendulum with each move you make. It’s freaky. Wrong. This whole ordeal is definitely not made for a man.