PLEASE TELL MOM THIS IS NOT HER FAULT

PLEASE TELL MOM THIS IS NOT HER FAULT

I remember taking it easy a few weeks ago in 2017. Those were the days…

Now, it’s the Earthyear of fatherhood for me, and we’ve just hit the 32 week mark. Baby could be born at this stage with a very healthy shot at survival and normal development. I know this because Freebird and I are the recent graduates of a six session-long antenatal class, so we’re fucking clued-up.

The continued exposure to baby-related content seems to have manifested itself in my day-to-day expression in very subtle ways.

I was sitting on the Watt bike this afternoon, hammering away miserably, on the slow ascent to normal function following the dislocation of my kneecap a semester ago. If you’re not familiar with the Watt bike – it’s a disgusting piece of equipment. The conditioning coaches have been trying to make it slightly more bearable by putting youtube videos up on the big screen, bless them. Last week I watched a 45 minute video of a delightful cycle through the Cotswolds – the most depressing 45 minutes of my life.

Today, someone, probably one of the lads, had decided to take a different approach on Youtube, and the entertainment was an hour long twerking compilation.

Ever wondered what the saturation point of twerking-inspired excitement is? It’s less than an hour.

Regardless, I spent less time appreciating Rihanna and more time in my own head contemplating names that work with Potgieter. I dismounted the bike having left a pool of sweat, and it’s debatable whether this was the doing of the workout or the wrestling with names. Which is more, my reaction to this pool of wetness was wow, looks like someone’s water broke here.

Anyway, that was a story of how the prenatal content has manifested itself in my day-to-day expression in very subtle ways.

At this stage, pregnancy is a weird tug-o-war between excitement and pure unadulterated anxiety. Whilst I am supremely excited to meet this little person, I find myself clawing onto the last remaining days of freedom, with marathon sessions on the playstation, hour long jamming with the guitar’s distortion turned to 11, and basically whatever my precious heart desires. It’s like preparing for an asteroid on a collision course with Earth – do whatever you want.

Don’t fool yourself with the notion that modern gaming is devoid of substance – we really have come a long way since Snake 2. I even saw a nipple the other day, probably the first foreign nipple I’ve seen since the last season of Game of Thrones concluded.

Speaking of nipples, our antenatal classes concluded with a breastfeeding workshop.

Breastfeeding workshop sounds weird to begin with. It suggests a practical element, and, armed with a very colourful imagination, I found myself pondering the possibilities of what this fellowship might entail.

On the one hand, the potential could be there to add a few entries to the foreign nipple registry, albeit lacking any real sex appeal. Or, would it be like a weird wine tasting, but with breastmilk?

Oh, this is the ‘87 vintage, a marvelous year. You should pair it with a ribeye, and perhaps a lovely balsamic reduction.

If I’m to be honest, I am slightly curious as to the taste and texture of breastmilk, but purely on a scientific level, for research purposes. It’s not something that excites me – all my fetishes involve dwarves.

And so, Freebird gave me a hall-pass to miss this particular session, but I regret taking her up on that, even if it was just a 2 hour chat in the end.

She returned from said workshop giggling like a teenager, but mortified at the same time. Apparently, there was a true renegade running the class, and the pregnant couples had to hear that mommy’s vagina would dry up in favour of lubrication around the nipples, and that lube was to be on their shopping list. Outstanding as far as icebreakers go. Most of them would probably have preferred a cup of milk.

She went on to say that, in the event of orgasm, a woman’s breasts would likely project a laser beam of milk. Now, I’m not sure whether Freebird happened upon this workshop whilst perusing Group On, or if she, true to her nature, added an assortment of spices to the story, but if it turns out to be true, I salute the teacher for her candour.

Naturally, Freebird decided to share this information and query the validity thereof on a family Skype call, her being a true anarchist and all.

As much as there is to know about parenthood, you also get the sense that parenting is very subjective, and one should adopt whichever system works for you. At the very least, these workshops prepare you for the myriad ways in which your life could change. It’s always better to be prepared for all outcomes, since calmness is your friend, and it’s hard to stay calm when you’ve decapitated your husband with an unexpected milk missile.

You really have to tip your cap for the women of the world, and what they go though during pregnancy. Weaponised boobs are tough to negotiate, unless you’re Austin Powers.

As far as labour is concerned, one has to try and replicate a date-like environment supposedly – to promote the release of wonderful hormones like oxytocin – nature’s morphine. I appreciate they might have a different idea of date night than I do – one that probably involves candles and dimmed lights and little nibbles and Enya.

I actually found myself buying concert tickets last week for the night of our due date – to a rock show no less. Before you consider me an idiot, try to understand that there are numerous factors involved which make the intelligent course of action less than obvious.

The singer is Myles Kennedy, and while this probably means nothing to most people, he just so happens to be on Freebird’s list of her five favourite singers. Considering how frequently great singers are passing over in recent times, it almost feels irresponsible not to award oneself the privilege of attendance. In fact, when I mentioned the attempted purchase of concert tickets to Freebird, she looked at me like I was the worst husband in the world, before learning it was a Myles Kennedy show. Of course, I was just the bestest.

This sudden change in mood is a bit eerie though, as I’m quite sure he also takes up a spot on her list of sexceptions – the 5 celebrities she would be entitled to sleep with if they happen to meet.

Thanks to my prenatal classes, I’m aware that sex is said to help induce labour, and so, even this cloud would have a silver lining. It’s the least I can do considering eveything she’s going through for us.

If the baby is born prematurely it’s a different matter entirely, and it would be reckless not to forgo the concert. She would be lactating then, and God knows we can’t lose another legend.

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