The Impregnator's Diary 1; First Trimester – Golden showers and perverted gadgets

Thrusting your stick in between a woman’s legs can lead to all sorts of trouble. This wisdom struck me for a second time as I foolishly tried to assist with the pregnancy test kit and received a golden shower for my troubles. It turns out that a pregnant woman’s urine stream can be rather powerful when targeted at a small plastic object. Nevertheless, it was a fairly magical moment as we both stood there – Dawn laughing uncontrollably, me wiping piss from my face – and began to see the little ‘+’ sign appear in the indicator window. We’d done it! We were going to be parents, and our lives would never be the same again.

The initial feeling of joy was quickly replaced by one of stud-like satisfaction. I felt the hairs growing thicker and longer on my chest, while I desperately resisted the urge to wear a medallion and strut my stuff on the streets so that the entire world could bask in my manliness. We decided to keep the pregnancy a secret for a while, although I think the pre-pubescent boy at WH Smiths might have guessed when we bought the obligatory ‘Holy Shit, I’m Pregnant!’ magazine. No doubt at least he was impressed by the potency of my sperm.
In the weeks that followed, our secret became increasingly difficult to keep as my wife began vomiting wildly in ever-more public places. But we somehow managed to keep both our sets of parents in the dark until around the 8-week mark when we paid them a visit (and Dawn threw up in their respective bathrooms). Now we’re at the end of the first trimester and everybody knows our news. It has been a whirlwind few months and it is hard to believe that we only have another 6 short months to go.

I don’t mind admitting that I expected to feel rather ambivalent about the impending arrival of a child into our lives. The reality, however, is that I find myself very excited indeed about the whole thing. Perhaps a portion of this excitement can be attributed to the entire new world of gadgets that has been opened up to me. After all, when did a married man get permission to buy a wireless night vision camera so easily? There might also be some aspect of my joy that relates to a certain page of the Mothercare catalogue entitled ‘Breast Pumps’. After all, when did a married man get permission to apply kinky suction devices to his wife’s tits so easily?

But beneath the veneer of pleasure around gadgets and sex toys, I am truly looking forward to welcoming this new little person into our lives. This anticipation was cemented by our 12-week scan, where we were given the most wonderful first images of our new family member. It’s heart could be seen beating and we could even pick out it’s tiny little fingers as they raised towards it’s mouth. It was just over 7 cm from head to bottom, and everything suddenly felt so very real.
But despite all of these wonderful aspects of being a dad-to-be, there are also some worries. Money is certainly one of the main ones, with childcare in my local area averaging around £700 per month. How long can we afford for my wife to be off work? Could she go back part time afterwards? There’s an extensive Excel spreadsheet working overtime right now trying to answer those very questions. And what about housework? My wife has already lost the urge to cook gourmet meals for us both, but what if she loses the urge to wash clothes or, heaven forbid, do the ironing? The days of shirking my share of the household chores are definitely numbered.

At this early stage, however, my biggest fear has got to be the birth itself. Firstly, I’m worried that somehow I won’t be there in time and that my wife will forever scorn me in public for not being at the birth of our first child. Secondly, I’m concerned that I might pass out at the sight of all the blood and that my wife will forever ridicule me in public for collapsing at the birth of our first child. I must also confess to being a little nervous that I might find the sight of my wife’s wide-open legs in a room full of strangers rather erotic. The last thing I need is for surplus blood to be pumped to that extremity when my brain will need every last drop to prevent me from keeling over in a messy heap on the delivery room floor.
So there you have it: my joy, my pain, and my sexual deviances. Coming up soon we have our 20-week scan where we can find out the sex of our baby, but my top priority now is to discover whether nipple cream really is as exciting as it sounds. Bring on the 2nd trimester!

-Craig Alan Williamson

Craig's first novel is now available as a free download from www.CraigAlanWilliamson.com