Before your bouncing bundle of shits and giggles graces the world with their presence, Team Mum & Dad (or 'Mom…' if you still haven't quite grasped the English language) enter the first stage of The Baby Battle – Civil War.
Becoming a Team is the first step on the road to you spending more money than you intended or could ever imagine, on a person that can't (safely) make you a cup of tea for at least another 8 years. They won't even pay for themselves until they've hit their late-teens and even then, you're still funding the fuckers; God (or whomever takes your prayers) forbid that in this time, you bake another.
Take a moment to imagine that you are an investor and that your baby is a start-up business. Would you invest at least £100,000 into the business over 18 years for a negative return, a heavily depreciated investment company (you) and more prescriptions of Citalopram than you even knew existed? No. Hell no. Nevertheless, here you are!
Men. Father's-to-be. If you can make it through pregnancy with your wife (or girlfriend, if you wish to be smited with this debauchery out of wed-lock) without spending time on Travel websites – you know, emigrating to Australia to work on a farm where no one can find you – then you truly are a Saint and you will be prepared for the Baby Battle.
To keep yourself away from Google and the last-minute deal Air France have on flights to Rio, here's your basic starter pack for making it through your s/o's pregnancy:
Humour:
Make fun of her constantly; she'll have a great sense of humour when she can't touch her toes, put on socks or do river-dance when the mood takes her.
Humour was inevitably what got you to Uluru in the first place (Down Under anyone? Wahey). It's often described as the best way to a woman's heart, although, I'm not sure the heart takes a front seat in the reproductive system (or even a back seat).
Scales:
Weigh your woman. Ensure she knows her exact MASS and that it is increasingly contributing to the reduction and compression of matter/atoms in the house. Sir Isaac Newton would be proud that you also correctly note that her 'Mass' has gained by upwards of 20lbs, or 7,008,021N if we're being precise (weight is different lads, look it up). Keep track of all that mass.
Scales are often relatively heavy too, so, if it comes to it, they're also good to have handy for self-defense.
A tape measure and a stopwatch:
The tape measure comes in to play from about 3 months (after the first tri-thingy). Extend the tape to approximately 5m, hold the end from where the tape extends and place the other end next to your puffy lady. Try and be subtle.
Now, the stopwatch, have it ready. Whilst exclaiming that the amount she now farts is becoming a factor for consideration by global warming experts, time how long it takes for your woman to cover the 5m distance in order to smack you. If it's more than 3 seconds, you're in luck already! If it's less than 3 seconds, ask yourself why you knocked up an Olympic sprinter and put some more distance between yourselves.
You now know your limits, so have some fun with them. For each month; as she progresses and waddles her way through the cycling stage of the pregnancy-triathlon to the third tri-thingy, reduce your now imaginary tape measure by 50cm (or more if you are brave) until you are actively mocking her, in her face, with ample time and a planned route of escape to avoid imminent repercussions.
WARNING. Elephants never forget. Neither do hormonal demon-carriers with swollen ankles and a bad attitude. Be careful.
Offering to 'help':
There's an obvious list of things to consider – washing up, hovering, other general housework, doing the weekly shop, cooking dinner, massages and so on. You need not be concerned by any of them. You can pay people to do all of that sh!t. People make it their profession to wash and dry-clean clothes, why should you? Come on, Dave, get real. Anyway, I digress.
By helping with the things your s/o cannot reasonably be expected to do by herself, you can surely only benefit the ever-flourishing bond between the two of you.
Offer to shave her legs; help her wash her hair; buy her some wireless jug-carriers; research the latest baby-wraps; go all out and not only look at buggies but put a deposit down on one that might not fit in the boot of your car (all of the last 3 without consulting your s/o). Why do all of these things? It's simple. Get them wrong once and you'll never be asked to do them again. Sit back, relax and be proud that you've tried to help but failed miserably.
Ladies. Mums-to-be. Your starter pack consists of one thing and one thing only. Your libido. Sex-drive. Mojo. It's the Tony Stark to the Iron Man suit. Simply, it will help you create a happy and supportive lapdog. Sorry, unhappy and frustrated man.
Make him think that you're in the mood. You know, the special-occasion frilly underwear mood. Pretend you're going through the horny phase – he'll have read about this, nothing else, so he'll be aware. Inexplicably, change your mind whenever clothes come off and your man thinks Boris Johnson is about to get into Downing Street… Roll over and get some sleep, your work here is done!
You'll get everything you could ever want and more from the increasingly desperate penis and pair of testicles that have your man attached to them.
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