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Pregnant Men
Sort 271 examines how men and women respond differently to the birthing process.

by Dear Jon
August 3, 2004

Pregnant Men_Dear Jon-Sort 271 examines how men and women respond differently to the birthing process.

Dear Jon,

I am a White Sox fan and my girlfriend is a Cubs fan. Is there any hope for us?

Hatfield McCoy
Dear McCoy,
I think that is an ideal relationship. After all, neither of you are in any danger of the other team obtaining a championship.

Dear Jon,

Why is the birthing process so icky?

Expectant Dad
Dear Dad,
I think the birthing process is God’s big joke on guys. Some people think that the birthing process is proof that God is a man. Not by a long shot. No man would ever submit his own kind to the torture a man endures when a woman is pregnant.
I know. It’s the women who actually have to BE pregnant. And that’s just it. One body is living inside another person’s body, and that is as icky as things can get. And while the woman-with-child is experiencing ickiness of all kinds, she still expects the guy in her life, ostensibly the person with whom she was made pregnant, to be attentive and sensitive and caring about all the things she is now attentitive, sensitive and caring about.
For example, commercials for floor wax provoke tears, while a man cheering for an eighth-inning home run is shallow and spending too much time on stupid sports when he should be out shopping for car seats.
While men are distracted by the swollen feet, morning sickness, and eccentric dietary demands, women expect men to just roll along with it. After all, the man is fifty percent to blame, goes the female logic: that is what bringing life into the world is all about, and there is nothing more beautiful. The man must agree with these sentiments or die.
If a man agrees that nothing else is more beautiful in the sense of the great ennobling mysteries of life, but that from a purely aesthetic standpoint there might be a few things in life more beautiful, such as, Pierce Brosnan in a tuxedo waltzing Halle Berry in a ball gown on the moonlit terrace of a Caribbean veranda, everyone very sophisticated and suave and smelling nice and looking good, such a man is dead meat.
The ickiness does not end when the baby is born, however. Babies are efficient, well-engineered ick machines, with incredible ick output.
I am positive that God wove ickiness into the birthing process as a means of punishing men for their guy-ness.
Every time a guy is trying to install a car seat into the back of his Mustang, an accessory he had just bought from Wal-Mart while out with his pregnant wife, who ended up sitting most of the time because her feet hurt since before they ever got to the car seats she had roamed approximately three miles of Wal-Mart floor going back and forth between cribs and basinets which she never intended to buy in the first place because her sister had already promised to hand down all that stuff, and while she was seated he lifted over and showed her approximately 137 different car seats each with a slightly varying shade of upholstery, and she could not make her final choice until she had examined each one of them at least twice, and he had missed the late innings of the baseball game because she had burst into tears for no reason when their favorite team hit a home run and then she suggested (with that meek smile that said he had better agree or Hell would freeze over before she ever risked getting pregnant by him again) that they go looking for car seats, and the guy had gotten the Mustang as a CHICK car not a BABY car for crying out loud, God in Heaven is upstairs laughing and saying, “You never thought this could happen, did you? Ha ha ha.”
Ladies, you endure the hormonal roller-coasters and the physical discomfort and the excruciating pain of birthing children. But men endure the disturbance of our routine and the deflating of our alter-ego, secret James Bond (or Captain Kirk or Gunsmoke’sMarshal Dillon) alter-egos. Take it from a guy. God is not a man.

Dear Jon,

Do you think it's okay to vacation without leaving your readers any new columns in your absence? Don't you worry that we'll all suffer withdrawal?

Dear Jon Addict
Dear Addict,
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

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