Pregnancy as told by a future dad

Pregnancy: the story of a future dad

“The Woman arrived early, telling me that she was late.

She had taken a detour to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test. She wriggled for twenty minutes on the living room sofa, repeating that she would use it on occasion. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after tomorrow, no rush. It’s common to be a few days late, that doesn’t mean much. She tried to change the subject, gave herself to an analysis of the meteorological situation, it is true that it was cool for a month of July, then she got up in the middle of a sentence and s’ is rushing down the hall as if her life depends on it, which it does. She was late, she was in a hurry. At 21:17 p.m., the Woman urinated on a white stick. We waited in the bathroom together. 21:22 p.m., the word announcing new life appeared on the white stick. Sitting on the edge of the tub, the Woman was overflowing. Trembling with joy and panic, she stammered out bits of sentences that clashed without much coherence. I took her face in my hands, I kissed her tears and I fixed my gaze on hers to reassure her. Everything will be alright. I was calm, calm like a diver on top of a cliff, freezing my emotions to avoid liquefying me. I was trying to control my own inner storm, a chaos of disbelief and exhilaration mixed with what must be called terror. She saw nothing but fire, my cold-blooded act calmed her. We hugged each other, whispering sneers. Then we fell silent to let ourselves be carried away by the moment. An angel passed by, as if nothing had happened. I looked up and caught our reflection in the mirror. We were no longer quite the same. “

“The Woman came back all dapper from her appointment with the gynecologist…

He told me that I had very thick mucous membranes. It is not just anyone, the Woman, she has a mucous membrane of standing. I knew I was dealing with a quality sire. That said, she will have to change her habits. Significantly curb your cigarette consumption. Plus a drop of alcohol. Wash the vegetables thoroughly. Ban sushi, cured ham and unpasteurized cheese. Another constraint: no longer exposing yourself to the sun at the risk of inheriting a pregnancy mask that could adorn her face with a sort of indelible mustache. It’s summer, I’m off to get a parasol right away, I only have a moderate desire to mate with a bearded woman. A nursery folder appears on my computer desktop. I note medical appointments in my diary. I add to my favorites sites devoted to fatherhood. The border between the abstract and the concrete is shifting. After showing off on her high-end mucous membranes, the Woman tells me that the embryo is in perfect condition. It’s a small comma. He is less than a centimeter and already his heart is beating. So it’s not a joke, this story of being alive that grows in there. “

“For a long time, we engendered out of economic necessity, for God or for the country.

Nowadays, it is for the happiness that the child would bring. To convey a story. So as not to die alone. To be fulfilled. To take care of. To transfer his problems. Because it is done. The Woman does not ask herself if her maternal instinct obeys a cultural construction or a biological injunction. She just wants a child. For my part, it is more vague. I suspect I am obeying this aphorism made famous by Cuban singer Compay Segundo: “To be successful in life, a man must have a child, write a book and plant a tree.” I wrote books. I have never planted a tree and I have never had children. It seems more natural for me to create characters than a person. I have heard this sentence in several countries, which gives a universal dimension to this simple idea: we build ourselves on our experiences. (…). I think I’m going to have a child because I never had one. I am driven by the fear of missing out on an essential principle by abstaining. Above all, I have the impression that I will be happier with than without. I may be wrong and I will never know. I asked myself all these questions a hundred and eleven times and, one day when I was crossed by a furtive impulse of fatherhood while watching kids playing in a park, I came to this conclusion: why not? “

“Keeping this pregnancy diary is part of the acceptance process.

I am in the position of the explorer, I discover a continent in formation, that of Fatherhood. I am embarking on the longest, the most powerful, the most indelible of journeys, I will encounter unknown obstacles. Pregnancy lasts nine months to allow the fetus to develop and the father to prepare. I change my skin, these words are the product of my moult. Scraps of me crumble, others aggregate to form a new personality. It will be the story of the transformation of man into father. This story is also a parallel process, an accompanying gesture, almost an act of solidarity, because I myself am in literary gestation. Do you weigh a ton and have hemorrhoids, my love? Yes, well, don’t complain too much, I myself am tormented by the labor pains of my work, I am tormented by my comma problems. O dizziness of creation, what stripes do we endure in your name? (…) When you type future daddy, Google suggests future daddy anxiety among the first associated results. See the devoted spleen of the thirtysomethings with strollers, passed from the age of possibilities to that of regrets. The arrival of the child confirms what has been suspected for a while – we are not destined to be rock stars and the world does not revolve around us. Dissatisfied generation, who is reluctant to commit, while making a point of honor to change diapers. “

“The woman’s thin body begins to round out on the sly.

A small bulge appears at the level of his belly. Her breasts swell to form a beginning of mammary presence. The Woman took twenty grams and she smeared herself with cream to counteract the stretch marks. Considerable events are taking place inside this body and I am astounded by my level of ignorance of the process underway.. I am expecting a child, so I buy J’attends un enfant, the Laurence Pernoud, edition of the year, bible for future parents since 1956. The pregnancy began two months ago. I am still struggling to absorb the news and I learn that the organism implanted in my wife already has limbs. His skeleton is shaped. His organs are falling into place. It’s a little strawberry. So little volume for so much upheaval. How is it possible that the lines of his hands are already emerging? There was nothing in that uterus at the start of summer and I will teach her to ride a bike soon.. This entity connected to its matrix by an umbilical cord has the beginning of a brain. Is it closer to the human than to the tadpole? Does she have a soul? Are you already dreaming, little thing? “