THE HIGHS AND LOWS OF 3 DADS AS THEY TAKE ON THE WEIGHT OF BEING A 9 MONTH PREGNANT MOM FOR ONE MONTH
DAD OF ONE
It’s stupid, brilliant, daft, and pointless, maybe I should just buy flowers.
There has been lots of talk about my putting on a full term pregnancy suit for a month. Friends, family and loved ones have all given their opinion, some think I won’t manage it, some think it will be easy, too easy, like I should get piles, raging hormones, fat ankles and that the bulk should be pressing on my interior organs. When I tell them that I’m doing it in an attempt to do something different for Mother’s day, they think it’s daft, brilliant or pointless. My good friend Stevie Woods suggested that I just buy my mum flowers. And for me that’s kind of the point, I’ve bought my Mum flowers for the last 3 decades. Sometimes you can only show someone how much you love them by doing something daft, pointless and difficult. And Mum, I do love you.
DAD OF ONE
There’s a first for everything.
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.
DAD OF ONE
Working the bump.
Not a wink. What an awful night, I just couldn’t get settled. Tried to make a small city out of pillows around my bump. What were at first quite a pleasurable novelty, my boobs, soon became about as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit. They were way too warm and hung on my arm sending it to sleep, and waking me at the same time. Any advice on how to get a good night sleep with a bump would be very welcome. First day at work, and to be honest it all seemed to go pretty well, a few twinges in the back but to be honest fairly manageable. Picked my son up from Aikido and whilst he gave me the look of REALLY DAD? He walked home with me and we had a good chat. A good day. Hope I get to sleep tonight though.
DAD OF ONE
My hair isn’t shiny.
Just in case you think I have a balloon stuffed up my jumper. The suit is 15kg in weight and according to the instructions given, it is specifically designed to create the following – Abdominal Distention – Pelvic Tilt – Shift in Posture Causing Waddling Gait – Abdominal Aches – Lower Back Stress – Inability to Get Comfortable – Pressure on Bladder, Stomach, & Lungs – Shortness of Breath – Difficulty Rising From Chair or Bed – Increased Breast Size – Rise in Body Temperature – Increased Blood Pressure & Pulse – Fetal Movement – Limited Breathing – Tiredness – What I don’t have is the big doses of progesterone or oestrogen or any of the other side effects associated with pregnancy. I also didn’t get the 8months gradual weight gain or the shiny hair. What I have more of now (after just 4 days) is some understanding of how the everyday things like putting on your socks becomes a monumental task. Mums you are amazing.
DAD OF ONE
Iron Mum Triathlon.
One of the guys in our office (Paul O’Neil) won’t shut up about some namby-pamby race where you swim for a while, ride a bike for a bit and run a little. “It’s the toughest challenge a man could do” says Paul. “It pushed me to my absolute limit!” exclaims Paul. Well, Mr. Iron Man Paul I’ve got a challenge for you. It’s called ‘The Iron Mum Triathlon’. Wearing a pregnancy suit, 1. Get the laundry out of the tumble dryer – 2. Iron the laundry – 3. Put the clothes on. Boom! no more macho chat from Paul in the office. Honestly, huge respect goes to all you pregnant mums out there. Every single one of you – one tough mother.
DAD OF ONE
It’s the little things.
Sitting down on my chair at work and being propelled 3 feet back. After a shuffle of my feet I arrive back at my desk. Bang. The bump arrives way before I do, knocking a pen to the floor and I know it’s going to be a real palaver picking it up. My boobs seem to have fallen out with me they’re in a sulky mood, hanging and whispering bad things about me to my bump. I walk into my own home and the cat looks at me like I’m some crazed burglar come to rob all the cat food. I try to eat my tea, but bump thinks I should be on a diet and refuses to allow my arm and my food anywhere near my mouth. My back starts to twinge while trying to get comfy on the sofa, so I look for some help online (back pain in pregnancy) the first line I read…‘The good news is, your baby is growing. That’s exactly what should be happening.’ That’s it, come on bump, bed.
DAD OF ONE
Is the bump growing on me?
It seems to be taking on a personality. It has a name, and its name is Bump. I cradle it, pat it, rub it and I just caught myself talking to it, while patting it. Now the reality is, I have a 15kg synthetic bag of plastic hanging from my waist. It gets in the way, has an impact on pretty much every physical situation I find myself. It changes my life and I’ve got two ways to go, hate it or embrace it. Hate it and I am in a constant battle, effectively with myself, embrace it and I can get through it together. I guess I’ve embraced it, Bump now gets a gentle pat and a ‘good morning bump’ as I make my way to the bathroom, lift it cradle it in my arm, and pee into the toilet. Bump and me start our day.
DAD OF ONE
Wonders of a weekend
Went shopping with my son. It’s pretty brave for a young man of 12 to go out in public with his dad, while his dad is wearing the Bump. I’m very proud of him (that’s my son, not the Bump)
Bought him a basketball for his efforts, and was driven slightly crazy by the eternal bounce, bounce, bounce of said ball. Bump, is turning me into a little bit of a grump.
I did find an absolute pleasure hidden in the morning. Something that I would have normally taken for granted, and it caught me by surprise. I had taken bump off to go for a bath. Can’t tell you how much I love bath time now, but that wasn’t the surprise. On my way to the bathroom my wife gave me a big fat hug. I hadn’t really hugged her for a week without Bump umpiring the whole affair. A proper hug. A delight. It’s amazing, when you take the simple things away, just how much pleasure you find in them when they return.
DAD OF ONE
It has to be true; I read it in the Daily Mail
We ended up in the Mail Online ‘femail’ (that’s not my poor spelling) section. I have just spent a most pleasant hour reading the comments. From…’Idiots………………and I am a woman’ to ‘Divorce these 3 wimps immediately ladies please.’ It was the polite plea at the end that tickled me. Then it just got a little strange ‘I cannot accept this. Men should not get pregnant. It is unethical and against the will of God. Who knows what defects the poor unfortunate babies will be born with? When Science tampers with nature like this it is the hand of Satan that guides it.’ Hmm, and then there was this one ‘Men already have roles during pregnancy and after the birth of their children. This is just another example of the anti-male, anti-Fatherhood agenda at work in society nowadays.’ Priceless. Tom may well be onto something with this comment ‘theres a sexual fetish, thats all about pretending to be a pregnant male. So dont try to bloody convince me, these fellows are doing it to be more empathetic.’ But my absolute, made me spit out my tea laughing, favourite ‘Grow some nuts you bunch of plonkers.’ And the final word goes to percy_pecker from Portsmouth ‘My god have some self respect, you are a disgrace to mankind.’ Gold dust.
DAD OF ONE
Can’t be bothered writing about this today – it’s difficult enough to do all the things I need to do in a day without keeping a blog and telling the world just how difficult it is. But I did sign a beermat at the very start of the whole thing agreeing to keep a blog. So here it is. To be honest it’s becoming quite tough. I don’t want any sympathy for this, as it is, what it is, and I agreed to go through with it. It’s just the same for some pregnant women I guess, it must be difficult for some to get on with a days work and what is effectively a day’s workout. I don’t have the hormones and all the other stuff, but I am definitely getting a little grumpy. Again another day of hats off to my mum and all the pregnant ladies out there. Wondering if I get to a place in this exercise somewhere when I can say ‘that day was a breeze, this whole pregnant thing is a doddle. Doubt it though.
DAD OF ONE
Pillows and posts.
I had a pretty good day today, started off with a yoga class for the pregnant, couldn’t really do all the moves but enjoyed it never the less. Needed 3 pillows to prop me up. Eva the yoga teacher kept saying something about a catcow, a tad insensitive, but she made up for it with a foot massage. Lush.
Then I read through some of the comments online.
The best one from yesterday (in my opinion) was from a guy called Will.
“My wife gave me a recipe for what its like to be pregnant, eat a pound of exlax, drink a case of soda, a pound of beans, 5 Imodium’s, swallow a live Chihuahua, jump up and down to shake vigorously, have someone kick you in your crotch then try to sit down and relax.”
Rather glad I’m wearing this instead of going through all that, I don’t even like beans.
DAD OF ONE
Shattered, I’m bloody shattered.
Got up at 5am yesterday, traveled from Barcelona to London and managed to somehow make it all the way through customs, on the flight and into Gatwick suits mostly donned. We removed them for 5 minutes to put them through the X-ray machine. London is great the people have all been friendly and I’ve been asked if people could have their pictures taken with me a few times.
But it wears a bit thin to be honest. Carrying this 15kg Bump around and not getting a night’s sleep is taking its toll.
I really don’t want to be a moan here, but it is becoming really difficult. If truth were told, it’s only over these last 24 hours that I feel I’ve had a real glimpse of what it may be like to be a pregnant mum. I am absolutely shattered, I’ve began to growl at anyone that wants to be cheerful with me, and I swear if one more person touches my Bump without asking, someone will be asking my state of mind to be taken into account at the Old Bailey.
I’m sure I just need some rest and all will be fine in the morning.
DAD OF ONE
I said I’d write 150 words a day.
That can’t be that hard can it? 150 words a day, just a few words a day reporting on how I feel and what’s been happening. I mean, by the end of this sentence I should be about a third of the way in. Yup, 54 words, 96 words to go. But to be honest it does get a little difficult, every day feels a little bit like the last only slightly more laborious. Yes Bump, is awkward, yes it’s heavy, and yes I’m tired. I’m also a bit tired of complaining about it, I did after all put myself in this situation. So any questions you may have, please post them. I’ll do my best to answer. I have a couple of questions for you, at what point did you want it to be over, considering how frightening is it to know where Bump makes its escape? A quandary I thankfully don’t have. But I honestly can’t get it out of my head. 176 words. Boom.
DAD OF ONE
Jonny is getting a bit strange.
We are all going a little bit dolally now to be honest. The comradery is good; we are all in this thing together. We chat when we get into the office in the mornings about stuff like
“the wife is getting a bit sick of this now” nods all-round,
“bought a coffee and Bump hit the table spilling it everywhere”,
“I can’t handle coffee any more, Chamomile tea is what I’m on now”
It’s a bit weird to be honest, but it seems perfectly natural. There is one reoccurring oddness, however, and that’s Jonny’s obsession with my not tying my shoelaces. He must remind me about 10 times a day that my shoes are untied. I know Jonny, I know my shoes are untied, I didn’t tie them, and I specifically left them untied. I will still know that they are untied the next time you remind me. Please stop telling strangers that my shoelaces are untied, I’m wearing a straightjacket with a food-covered hilltop built into the front of it. No one is interested in my shoelaces. Enough with the shoelaces!
DAD OF ONE
You Fat Bastard!
Being pregnant and giving birth to a child is only the first step. Bringing up a child in a happy, healthy environment is quite a different thing. I know this because we have a child of our own, a 12 year old boy called Saul. We obviously love him to bits. We also know just how difficult it is to get this far, how much work has to be put in, to be blessed with a child that we are proud of. We’ve had our fair share of tears, tantrums and tenacity along the way. I’m happy that he’s no angel, it shows spirit, I’m glad that he pushes boundaries, it shows determination, he’s funny, intelligent and most of all respectful of other people.
Which brings me to what happened today. I’d covered up Bump with a rather large black jacket. I was just going down the steps to get the Metro, when from the top of the steps a group of about 5 or 6 English youths started to call out ‘oi! Fatty’ they then started chanting ‘you fat bastard, you fat bastard’ I’m sure you’re not all bad kids, and that even a couple of you felt slightly uncomfortable in the process, I’m also sure that your parents would be devastated by your behaviour.
I wasn’t a pregnant dad today, just a fat dad, and unfortunately it wasn’t a pleasant insight.
DAD OF ONE
One happy accident.
My wife leaves the house earlier than me in the morning; I get an extra hour cuddling Bump. Which means my son has to help me to get the confounded contraption called Bump back on after my shower. He comments on the weight of it most mornings, as he watches me start my day puffing and panting. He’s obviously taking this in a lot more than I thought. This morning he said, “Hey dad, you’d have to be pretty sure of what you’re getting yourself into, if you’re going to have a baby” An opening, every parent knows these moments, an opportunity to really talk with a 12 year old! It’s as rare as finding a Bamboo Lemur smoking a homemade pipe standing in your slippers. I had to tread carefully, not seem too excited, but encourage conversation. So I casually asked, “Why’d you say that?” he replied “just.” And that was it. But I know he’s thinking, it’s changing his perspective, and that’s brilliant. Seeing pregnancy from a different perspective has enabled him to see some of the realities, even just on the physical level. Very simplistically, if dad the guy that usually does all the heavy lifting in the house is really struggling with this then it must be tough. If this takes him into the next few years with even slightly more respect of what it means to be pregnant, then it may just help prevent an unhappy accident.
DAD OF ONE
I’ve got a cold
This whole thing is getting a bit too real now, I feel ill, I’ve developed a real scowl and I’m not too pleasant to be around.
I remember my wife being a bit of a gremlin while pregnant with Saul. I was the usual kind of bemused bloke husband that kept my head down and kept my focus fixed on the finish line. I had no idea, why she was so angry, then tearful, then happy, then angry again about almost everything. I simply shrugged it off and tried to support her whenever I could. Most of what I tried to do to ‘fix’ the situation just made things much worse. I realize now that I didn’t need to fix anything but to be there to take some of the flack and keep the peace wherever I could.
I now find myself with a stuffy nose, a cough, and a sore throat. I can’t be bothered with anyone, or anything, most of all, this bloody appendage called Bump.
I want rid of it. I’ve had enough. I’m not man enough to be pregnant and ill. Blahhhh!
DAD OF ONE
Trying to find the happy me
I am now wishing away my days. It’s noon and I’m thinking 10 more hours then bed. I go to bed and I’m thinking that’s another day over, only 11 days left. This isn’t like me; it’s not like anyone that I like. I’m never one to wish away my days, but that is exactly who I have become, a miserable daywishawayer. So I want to spice things up a little, I want to have a bit of fun. I want you to challenge me. Give me something to do, help get me through the last 11 days. Be as serious or as silly as you want. Ask me to go and buy a maternity dress, get me riding crossbar on Jason’s bike, learning to tap dance dressed as a hippy. Come on people help me get through this.
DAD OF ONE
Let me begin by taking you back to France in the late 1700’s, King Louis XVI would sit down and eat a rather large meal. Now the King was no shy eater and would demolish an entire roast chicken, pork roast, and still make room for a dozen chocolate sprinkled pastries. The rest of France was pretty poor by comparison, not much food, hardly any cash and absolutely no chocolate sprinkled pastries. But it wasn’t so much the poor that started the whole ‘let’s get rid of the greedy pastry eating aristocracy’ way of thinking. Most of the monarchy-bashing came from the middle class liberals known as philosophes (thinkers) who could afford to sit around in coffee houses debating about why they had nothing to dip into their drink. You see these people had seen what it was like to have food and money; they had seen the rich stuffing down their pastries. And that’s a little how I feel every day. I get a glimpse of luxury. I take my Bump off and I know what it’s like to be 15kg lighter for 15 minutes, it’s bliss. So I’m revolting, I’m going to try 2 days without taking Bump off at all. I’m going to towel wash until I become, well, revolting.
DAD OF ONE
So there I was cooking tea, cutting up some chicken to have in a little pasta, lovely. The buzzer on our door goes, and as is my Pregnant dad want these days, I shouted “Kate, someone’s at the door” I’m sure I heard her sigh as she passed the kitchen. I continued with the cutting of the chicken, opening the fridge door then forgetting what I wanted. I have become incredibly forgetful while wearing Bump. Cheese, that’s what I needed cheese. So I get the cheese and start chopping some fresh basil. Back to the fridge, nope no idea what I wanted in there, I stand there so long bemused that the fridge starts beeping. Close the fridge door. Kate has been gone a while. So I go to investigate, Kate is standing near the front door talking to an old lady. The old lady sees me, lets out some primal shriek and turns to run. She bangs her face on the doorframe and collapses in a heap. I just stood there stunned, while Kate helped the poor woman up. Someone from the street has stopped to help, and it’s only when they looked up and whimpered that I realized. I’m a grown man standing at the top of the stairs with a straightjacket pregnancy suit on, holding a big carving knife. It turns out the old lady was fine, and wanted to get away as soon as possible. On a happy note the pasta was lovely.
DAD OF ONE
“Lunch” someone said in the office, “nope, I’ve brought in sandwiches” was my reply. The truth is I don’t want to see people; I don’t want to face the open pointing and the unveiled laughter. I avoid people I don’t know, as much as I can. I’m tired of explaining why I have boobs and why I’m dressed like I’m an extra in a homemade sadomasochistic movie. I’m doing it in honour of my wife and mum seems to translate into, I’m a bit of an attention-seeking dick that likes to look silly. It really couldn’t be further from the truth, well the bit about attention seeking anyways. I don’t particularly like social gatherings, can’t stand crowded places and I must have spoken to my neighbors about twice in my life. But I’ve never before felt quite so reclusive. I have become a Steve Hanson plus Bump shaped prison of my own making. Saying that, I am enjoying it a little too, I’m catching up on films, reading books that have sat on my shelves for years but sadly I’ve not been contemplating my navel. I don’t have one anymore. I have my Bump.
DAD OF ONE
Well, I’ve been doing a little research and here are the top cravings – ice (cools you down and is great if you have anaemia), chocolate (of course), spicy foods (hot foods make you sweat which cools the body off – nice), pickles (some like the crunch some like the vinegar – I like the crunch), potato chips or as I call them crisps (loaded with salt), fruit (for a happy health baby), lemon (yes I know, it’s fruit but worth pointing out that lemon especially shocks your taste buds back into life), ice cream (yum), soda (or fizzy pop – love it), coffee (always), sugary sweets (nice), beans and greens (if I must), red meat (I can do that), juice (easy), salt (on its own, yuk), vinegar (like pickles aren’t enough, I’m going to try unfiltered apple cider vinegar) then there’s the old faithful milk, yogurt and cheese, but not necessarily in that order.
But it’s the odd combos where it gets interesting, dunking pickles into peanut butter or putting olives into ice cream? I’m up for that, again suggestions please.
Then apparently there is a whole deeper darker level, craving chalk, dirt and many other non-food items. I do however, draw the line at putting wood in my mouth.
DAD OF ONE
No dads have been hurt in the making of this
Well we’ve reached the third trimester of wearing our third trimester pregnancy suit. We’ve moaned, groaned and ached our way through this experience so far. It continues to be an interesting journey. We’re learning quite a bit, mostly about the people around us, and about other people’s attitudes to pregnancy. Our partners and families continue to be great and very supportive. But it has created quite a stir, and gathered much wider interest than anything we had ever anticipated. Yesterday we were in TIME magazine, Sunday morning we were interviewed by the BBC World Service.
It’s great that we’ve got people talking. It’s great that we’ve struck a note somewhere along the way. It’s slightly surprising to see the same attitudes popping up again and again. Quite a few men are somehow threatened by the whole idea. Any man that is threatened by this is basically an idiot. I wont even go into the hows and whys.
Quite a few women see this as a challenge, and immediately go on the defensive.
‘What about the hormones, and the leaking from every orifice?’ Yikes.
Well, we’re not really pregnant. We are not challenging anyone nor are we in any way attempting to demean what you wonderful people do. You are awesome.
Any Suggestion that because we have put on this pregnancy suit we now understand what it’s like to be pregnant is similar to us putting on a pair of platform shoes and saying we now understand what it’s like to be part of the Amazonian Panará tribe.
We really can’t experience every aspect of being pregnant, and quite frankly I’m glad we can’t. We are simply sampling a smidgeon of the discomfort that the body mass and the weight of pregnancy brings with it. We know a great deal more in week three than we did the week before we started this.
But what strikes me as really odd, given all the interviews that we’ve conducted over the last three weeks, no one has asked about my mother, the sole reason that I donned Bump in the first place. This whole thing is to celebrate mums and for me in particular to celebrate my mum. So tomorrows post will be dedicated to my mum, she really is quite an exceptional human being. Most mums are.
DAD OF ONE
This goes out to my mum, Pat Hanson who has given everything into raising me, my brother Peter and my sister Ann. My earliest memory of my mother is seeing her with wellington boots on, covered in mud. She had just finished a shift picking potatoes at a farm about 2 miles from our home. Tough work, even tougher when you consider that my mum was holding down another two jobs to help keep our family’s head above water.
When I was around the age of 13 my mother permanently damaged her back while lifting boxes in a factory. About a year after this her own mother started to suffer with Alzheimer’s disease, grandma and granddad moved in and lived with us for years, mum helped nurse her with love and affection everyday. Sadly her mother died after a few years, and a few years after this granddad became ill. Mum gave herself over to looking after granddad. She did this with the grace and love that only a dedicated daughter can. When I reached the age of about 27 my granddad died of cancer. Mum was crushed.
All the children had flown the nest, which just left mum and dad (who is also pretty awesome) at home. This is where most people would begin to get old and tired, God knows she was entitled to. But not my mum, my mum started to bloom. She got busy. Taking up a role on the local board of education, helping the local government win elections, and becoming a major player in the village community centre. You will find my mum writing for the press on gardening tips, or sewing clothes at the school for children’s plays or holding a raffle for the elderly, my mum is almost an octogenarian herself. Mum and Dad have made a marriage that is an example to all of their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. My mum cares about people, she keeps herself busy looking out for others, she has principles, honesty, and the grit to stick to them. If I could be half the person my mum is I would be pretty proud of myself. Mum you are a marvel and I love you so much.
DAD OF ONE
3 is a magic number.
I’m just on my way from Barcelona to London (it’s retail week), traveling with Bump is a bit of a pain. I have a busy couple of days ahead of me. But this is not a week for complaining; this is a week for reflection and for squeezing whatever fun I can find out of wearing this bloody Bump. I’m travelling with Jason and Jonny so there is sure to be a few laughs along the way. This is one of the upsides of wearing Bump, the three of us have spent a great deal more time in each others company this month. Not just working and sorting out the chapters for the new books but socially. Mainly because there is safety in numbers, when three men walk into a restaurant wearing the suits, it becomes a uniform, and something of a talking piece for the rest of the patrons. Walk in alone and you are a weirdo to be pointed at and sniggered at behind menus. Sometimes it’s been fun, sometimes it’s been less than fun and sometimes it’s been dreadful, but we have been through it together, and helped each other along the way. It’s been great seeing the extended families at the weekends too, and I’m sure we will make much more time for this in the future. But for right now we can see the end of the tunnel and we are running, charging, (Jason is giggling) towards it.
DAD OF ONE
Curry and sex.
Apparently a good curry and sex is all I need to help shift Bump. Sounds good to me, the curry should be a doddle, and erm, well yes, it’s coming off in a few days anyways. And as it’s coming off in a few days it seems like a great time to say thanks for all the comments, and encouragement along the way. And yes, it looks like we will be doing some kind of pregnancy simulator. I have to say I’m not very happy about it. What was a last few days of glee and joy at the idea of taking this thing off has now become filled with dread. I’m really not very good with pain. And yes I know it’s not half as traumatic as the real thing and blah, blah, blah. But I’m still not happy
DAD OF ONE
Time for a little reflection
What did we have to lose? We’ve lost sleep, we’ve lost inhibitions, and maybe lost a little credibility along the way too. Although I gained 15kg’s of artificial weight at the beginning of this I’ve also lost a little of my own body weight along the way. Which is nice. So we started this journey about a month ago. Going into it pretty much blindfolded, after an over enthusiastic chat in a bar, I decided to get the suits and seal the deal. It seems like an age ago now. What have we gained by doing this? Other than the aforementioned 15kg’s I believe we have gained an unfathomable amount of knowledge. Not just what it’s like to carry this bulk and weight around, but the effect this has on everyday life. We started a debate. And discovered some of the attitudes that the general public have to people who try something different. We certainly put ourselves in the firing line during this process. Most of it however has been friendly fire. We’ve gained a different perspective on our own lives, and this perspective viewed in the right way can only be a good thing. But for me personally, I found a (slightly odd) way of expressing to my mum and wife just how much I admire and love them. Of course I could have just told them, of course I could have just made them a cup of tea, or bought a big bunch flowers with a nice loving note attached. I didn’t. Instead I did this, and I’m very happy I did. Every last moaning moment of it.
DAD OF ONE
I’m tired, so bloody tired. Can’t really be bothered to write much to be honest. Laying down on the sofa, cushioned up and counting away the hours. It’s been an experience, but now it’s about time for it to be over, and for that, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. One more night and then the day that all this has been heading towards ~ Mother’s day. Whoop, whoop. The joy. It’s going to be odd to take this thing off, but it is going to be great to get up and walk around without looking like a clown. No more people pointing and no more explaining what we are up to. Mother’s day this year feels more like Christmas day did when I was a kid. Now time for a glass of wine and Saturday night TV.
DAD OF ONE
Happy Mother’s Day
The year my mother was born, fish and chips cost 2p, the Biro pen was the height of technology, Neville Chamberlain was in charge of the U.K. and Preston North End were the winners of the FA Cup. A great deal has changed over the years. Yet some things remain the same today as they were back then. Giving birth is a difficult and dangerous affair that tests most people to their limits, and somehow the superhuman strength of putting up with the pressure and strain of giving birth then looking after a screaming demanding little bundle of ‘joy’ afterwards bonds mother and child for life. What the 3pregnantdads did was a tiny drop in the ocean compared with what mums do the world over, every single day. But it was done with the right intention; the simple joy of honouring loved ones. I hope we did Anna Jarvis proud. Happy mother’s day. MUM.
What started as a meeting about improving The Book of Moms, a personalised book that celebrates anyones and everyones mom, became something very different. Somewhere in the meeting the name Anna Jarvis came up as the women that trademarked the name ‘Mother’s day’, who intended Mother’s day as a yearly event to honour Mom.
How could the 3 men (all in their mid 40’s) honour their moms and the memory of Anna Jarvis at the same time, in a way that will be tough, and meaningful? What if we became pregnant? Or as near as possible. A thought became an idea which turned into an dare, and now there’s no going back.
We want you! Join in and help us to prod and cajole the guys in the right direction over the course of the month. Get involved with your thoughts, ideas and comments. It’s gonna be a whole lot of fun. :)