The last time scientists checked, only women can gestate a human baby for nine months. So next time you hear a dad announce, "We're pregnant," feel free to roll your eyes obviously and mutter something derisive under your breath.
Sorry buddy. We're glad you're into this whole fatherhood thing.
But until you're ready to take our hemorrhoids and hug the same bathroom toilet where you know your co-worker just took a monstrous number two, YOU don't get to share the title.
You planted the seed. Now you're just riding shotgun while we try to grip the wheel with a basketball keeping our short arms from holding on at 10 and 2.
Hey, I'm all for dads' rights and dads who give a darn. My husband gets righteously indignant when he hears about a dad who think it's OK to skip out on diaper duty. He's not just a father. He's a dad, and he pretty much rocks it if I do say so myself (biased, schmiased).
I'll even grant you he's been a "dad" since I jumped into his arms in our teeny tiny bathroom and almost sent his whole body crashing into the toilet because I was so excited about those two pink lines. He got bonus points for not rubbing his arm and screaming "ouch." And not telling me I scream like a girl.
But the gestating? I did that by myself.
I puked myself. I laid in an emergency room with an IV in my veins trying to rehydrate me while he got all nauseous about the needle in MY arm (ahem, proof that men couldn't hack being pregnant?).
I developed cankles that were worth their spot in the elephant cage at the zoo. I waddled to work. I sat down on the ground and tried to get back up again only to realize I now had to actually grab onto something to get off the floor.
And I pushed a 6-pound, 14 1/2-ounce baby out of my crotch. He grabs his you-know-what when he just sees a guy on a movie being kicked in the nether regions.
He held my hand. And told me he loved me. He was a great husband and a great dad during my pregnancy.
My pregnancy, folks. MY pregnancy.
If science wants to hand over the reins any time, I wouldn't be one of those mushy gushy women crying about their "sacrifice" for their child and their "need" to give their precious swookums that time in their womb. I'd be all about handing it over faster than my kid chooses the babysitter over me at discipline time.
But until that happens, he doesn't get to say "we're" pregnant.
Does it bother you when guys say this?
Image via Vee Dub/Flickr