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Entering as a Husband

Exiting as a Father

By Jay Sauls

When we found out my wife was pregnant, we hit the bookstores en masse. My wife proceeded to keep several struggling publishers in business by purchasing every book available on motherhood. Of all the books on impending pregnancy, there was not one accurately written for men. I'm not saying that the information provided was wrong, because it wasn't. Most claimed that my wife would have mood swings and she did. There was also assertions that she would eat wild and strange combinations of food. And once again, the books were right on the money. They were also on target when they advised about constant weariness, bathroom trips, susceptibility to smells, irritability and weight gain. In these areas they once again hit the bulls-eye. Where they erred was in their answer to these problems!

I took the advice given on mood swings. "Just ride them out," they said. "Understand that her hormones are going crazy and she can't help the feelings that are driving her now." What the book failed to mention was how to protect myself. I found no recommendations on body armor! Contrary to popular belief, pregnant women can still possess cat-like quickness. One afternoon you're folding laundry together, obviously happy and content. You casually make a small comment about folding your shirts a different way, and the next thing you know, you're on your back staring at the ceiling fan through a laundry basket! You look for the unknown ninja-maid assassin only to find your wife face down on the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably. Through muffled curses, you discover that not only are you responsible for her current condition, but according to her hormonally driven brain, are also the most despicable man on earth!

This part of the book was correct. It was their solution to the situation where they missed the boat. I was told to "understand and comfort my wife." Any guy who has experienced the "Get out of the house!" routine, where you leave and then have a shoe thrown at you from the porch for leaving, has been slightly prepared for pregnancy. After one protracted emotional outburst in the mall – and if you want to feel conspicuous have a 5-foot woman, pregnant to the point of looking like a two-legged weeble-wobble, dress you down in a packed food court! – I put my arm around my wife and soothingly cooed in her ear, "It's OK, baby. I understand!" That, my friend, is the wrong thing to do. According to my wife, I don't stand a snowball's chance in you-know-where of understanding how she feels! After nearly having my left shoulder snapped in three places, I learned to play stupid. A game my wife says I am particularly good at.

Want to see more?

• Pressure to Provide: Balancing the Responsibilities of Father and Husband
• A Note to Fathers: It's You She Wants
• Playing For Keeps
• Talk about it!