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suggest, let’s say, a warm glass of clam juice. You just know that. Certain foods simply do not paint a pretty picture: Sweetbreads. Frog’s legs. Sauerkraut soufflé. Crabmeat daiquiris . . . clearly all to be avoided. But—a cracker ? Never would I have dreamed that the mere mention of a dry, salted nothing of a cracker could send a grown woman lunging for a sink. But I did mention it, and she did lunge.
    I n addition to the wild cravings and the crippling nausea, women also get the tougher end of the deal foodwise, because they have to restrict themselves in consideration of the youngster hatching within. A lot of nifty foods and delectable beverages are cut right out of the picture. Wonderful man that I am, I jumped behind my wife in full support.
    â€œYou know what, sweetie? If you can’t have any wine, I won’t have wine either. You can’t have a sip of beer? None for me, then. No spicy food for you? I, too, shall abstain. I shall submit myself unwaveringly to the very same grueling regimen of denial and sacrifice as you, my love.”
    But after a while, I had to rethink it.
    â€œLook, I know what I said, but let’s be honest: You have to protect the well-being of our child. Me? I was just trying to be nice . . . There’s no reason I should have to put myself through that, is there, really? I mean, not that I’m not enjoying the steamed bok choy and brussels sprouts platter, but I’m just going to grab a pepperoni pizza and seven beers. I will, however, eat over there, so don’t worry, you won’t see a thing . . .”
    The one aspect of this whole food circus that I wish someone had told me about is how much weight men put on during pregnancy. Traditionally, dads-to-be pile on as much as—and often more than —the women who are actually With Child.
    I’d like to say I did it on purpose. To “keep my wife company.”
    The sad truth is, I didn’t know it was going on. It quietly snuck up on me. In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been that surprising. Not only did I snack every time she snacked, but more often than not, I’d run down for some food that the Love of My Life needed to have “NOW!!!” and in the time it took me to prepare it just-to-her-liking and sprint it back upstairs, the aforementioned Love of My Life had changed her mind. The oh-so-urgent urge was no longer urging. And as I mentioned, not only is that very same food—ordered minutes ago—no longer desirable, it’s now entirely disgusting. The thought that I would even be holding a plate and making it available is both repulsive and a testament to the enormity of my insensitivity.
    So as I would head back down the stairs in conciliatory retreat, I’d think, “Well, someone’s got to eat all this spaghetti . . .” And the next thing you know, there’s twenty pounds of extra Person around the top of your pants that didn’t use to be there.
    And sadly, men going through pregnancy are never admired for the mass they accumulate. While everyone’s lining up around the block to feel and revere my wife’s expanding belly, nobody’s applauding me. I’m part of this thing, too, you know . . . I think it would be nice if just once during the pregnancy someone came over to me and said, “That’s a lovely gut you’ve got there. May I touch it?”
    â€œSure. Thanks for asking . . . and if you want to come back in a while, we’re going to be having doughnuts and spareribs. Wait till you feel that. ”

“Y’Know What You
Have to Get . . .”
    O ver the first few months of pregnancy, we watched other couples with babies and concluded that we not only had a lot of things to learn, but a lot of things to go out and buy. People with kids just accumulate an unbelievable amount of stuff. It’s sort of like taking up a new sport. And I have always