WE’RE getting bored of being pregnant now. When you’re nine months on the way, you start to wonder if all this would ever end. I heard stories about women who were weeks past their due dates. There’s this story I read about a mother who was so many weeks overdue that when the baby finally came out, she enrolled it immediately in prep school.

When you’re nine months on the way, the most exciting event in life consists of the daily walks around the neighborhood. We’ve become friends with the neighbors this way, because part of this prenatal ritual is to smile at everyone on the street, so people will know you are genuinely happy, when in fact the wife feels so bloated she is beginning to think she’s a newly-discovered planet.

Don’t forget to hold hands, too, and look into each other’s eyes when you pause at the corner to catch your breath. If the weather is good, gush over the clear blue sky, the birds on treetops, and the setting sun, and the neighbors will say, “Oh, what a lovely couple.” If the weather is bad… but why would you want to cozy up to each other in a rainstorm unless you’re Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst?

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IF you’ve been following this column the past weeks, you will notice this little Tuesday space we have here has become a sort of repository of my experiences as an expectant father. I didn’t know that until last Sunday, when I bumped into fellow Sun.Star Cebu columnist Mayette Tabada at the mall.

“I follow your baby blog,” Mayette told me. Baby blog! That disturbed me, because I was expecting her to say, “Since when did you start thinking you’re the marrying type?”

Then it hit me. What a disservice this column has been to you, my dear readers. As a columnist in this paper’s Opinion Section, I am supposed to give you my expert’s opinion on what’s going on in the world around us: Libya, Japan, New Zealand, Joavan “The-Son-Of-God” Fernandez, The Fall of Sharon Cuneta, The Showbization of Philippine Football, and Justin “What-Have-We-Done-To-Deserve-Him” Bieber.

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I BELONG to the extremely rare type of fathers who get pregnant with their wives. What I mean is that I will be offended if you approach me and say, “When is your wife due?”

If you want to deal with me during these bumpy days of our pre-natal excitement as a couple, the more politically correct thing to say would be, “When are you both due?” Because that would mean it’s me and my wife who are pregnant. Cute? Wait till you finish this article.

Call it my Freudian desire to grow a uterus and fallopian tubes. So far, I’ve only succeeded in growing my hair long like a frustrated seductress with limited budget for shampoo. And you know what? I sometimes find myself stuffing a pillow under my shirt to look like I’m eight months pregnant, to the delight of the wife during those boring spiels of her, I mean our, pregnancy.

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