Dear Mila Kunis… Yes, WE are Having a Baby.

Mila Kunis is making headlines after her rant on Jimmy Kimmel about men saying “We are pregnant” when referring to their wife/girlfriend/ladyfriend being pregnant.

While I can totally understand where she is coming from, I can also say that the men definitely have their own symptoms during pregnancy!

[Yes, I know this skit was meant as a joke, but I felt like sharing my opinion on this]


Mila Kunis : Do you have to squeeze a watermelon sized person out of your lady hole?
No. They don’t. But they have to (because let’s be honest, what woman is really going to tell her husband that he can leave the room if he wants – and mean it! – during labour and delivery) watch us suffer. They have to be supporting, even though many would rather run and hide because they can’t take another death-stare when they rub your back the wrong way at the wrong time.

MK : Are you crying, alone, in your car, listening to a stupid Bette Midler song?
Nope. Instead, they are watching, like a deer in headlights, deciding if it’s safe to step in when he sees tears rolling down their wife’s cheeks because Elmo has no more ducks (not even a feather) and it’s just. so. sad. But is it worth getting yelled at for bringing it to attention.

MK : When you wake up and throw up, is it because you’re nurturing a human life? No. It’s because you had too many shots of tequila. Do you know how many shots of tequila we had?! None. Because we can’t have shots of tequila. We can’t have anything. Because we’ve got your little love goblin growing inside of us. All you did was roll over and fall asleep.
Okay, sure, we can’t drink. And for many women, or maybe it’s just me, we don’t even drink after baby is born while we are nursing, just in case baby wakes in the night and wants milk, since we don’t want to introduce them to rum before their first taste of solids. But again, the men suffer when we suffer. My poor husband had to fend for himself for many nights during the first trimester because I couldn’t even think about food. He had to listen to me complain about how gross I felt. He had to (pretend to) read the messages I sent him during the day, complaining that I felt sick and that I hated him. And that this was all. his. fault.


There’s so many other pregnancy symptoms that my husband has had to endure.

Food aversions.
I have many smells that I can’t stand the smell of. And my poor husband gets roped into dealing with them. There’s been a few diapers that were rightfully mine (we follow the law of “Finders Keepers” in our house) but I’ve had to pass on because I just can’t deal with the smell. Or his post-gym protein drink cup. It has a tiny bit of milk that sits in there from 9am until 6pm, sometimes later depending on when dishes are being washed, and I gag even thinking about the sour milk smell that I will find in there… I leave that for him almost every night. Same with cold pasta sauce. Not going to happen.

Mood swings.
One minute I can love him, the next I feel like I want to rip his eyeballs out and shove them where the sun don’t shine. And sometimes, when I am really feeling adventurous, I do both at the same time. It’s not always deserving. I mean, there was the time he took my hot chocolate that I was making and DUMPED IT DOWN THE DRAIN ONLY TO REALIZE IT WAS THE LAST HOT CHOCOLATE PACKAGE WE HAD IN THE HOUSE AND HE COULDN’T REMAKE ME A CUP OF HOT CHOCOLATE “THE PROPER WAY” IN THE END. That night, he felt what pregnancy mood swings can feel like. And he suffered longer than I did. Because when I went to bed, without enjoying that cup of hot chocolate that I had been craving all. freaking. day. he ended up having to walk to the grocery store and stocking up, in hopes of earning some kind of forgiveness so I didn’t Lorena Bobbitt him in the middle of the night.

This is a big one with my second pregnancy. Maybe it’s because I have a toddler at home so I can’t just come home and veg on the couch after work, but I am feeling it much more this time. As is my husband. He’s got to step up more and more to entertain our son when I’m down for the count. He has had to make dinner on days that I am off work because I just can’t imagine standing at the stove in the evening. And there’s been many nights he’s had to wake me up from the couch and drag me to bed after I fell asleep watching a TV show… at 8pm. Jason’s taken over cleaning the bathroom so that I don’t have to manuever around the sink, toilet and shower that fit in our closet sized bathroom. Also, he doesn’t want me breathing in the chemicals, but I won’t tell him about the natural cleaners that we could switch to so it would be safer for me to clean. (Hi husband!)

Peeing every twenty minutes.
This effects him too. We rarely get to watch a show without having to pause it while I waddle to the bathroom. When we are out and about, we have to make plenty of detours to the restrooms. He, again, has to listen to complaints. And he also has to deal with me waking him up at all hours of the night as I struggle to roll out of bed and go to the bathroom, tripping over our bedroom doorway speed bump (aka the dog) and stumbling into the hallway in the process.

Sore breasts.
Sure, they ache when I stumble to the bathroom in the morning, bra-less. They hurt when I run and am not wearing enough support. But they are also off-limits. And being around boobs that were common property but now off-limits can be very heartbreaking to men.


This is why I have no problem saying that “we” are pregnant.  We are both going through this pregnancy together. We are both attending (well, as much as possible since he’s really busy at work) the midwife appointments. We both attended the ultrasound scans. We both spend time thinking of how our lives are going to change, how we will need to budget, how we need to fix this and that before baby comes. And we both spend time thinking “What have we done?! When did we agree to a second?!”

However, the day that men can carry a baby to term (or at least simulate that feeling with all the fun side effects that go with it) is the day we will be seriously considering a third child. I want to make sure he knows exactly how it feels having your bladder used as a trampoline and your nipples feeling like they are in a vice grip all day. I also want him to know just how big that water-melon sized baby is compared to a lady hole… And I will get to suffer all the side effects he has had to deal with.


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