THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, November 24, 1995 TAG: 9511210125
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Pam Starr
LENGTH: Medium: 69 lines
I've been pregnant for nine long months. Four of those months were spent being nauseous and throwing up, and the constant heartburn has been as much my companion as the frequent mood swings and low backaches.
The redeeming part of pregnancy - the luxurious hair and nail growth - didn't happen to me. Instead, my husband's hair has been growing more than an inch each month! If Doug doesn't get his hair cut every three weeks, he can pull it into a ponytail. To make matters worse, he trims his nails every week because they're growing just too darn fast.
It ain't right. Especially since I know what's in store for me after the birth - a hair fallout worse than what a nuclear reactor shutdown could cause.
They say that some men really empathize with their pregnant wives in what's known as the ``couvade syndrome.'' Doug has been no exception.
Early on, when only starchy foods would ease my nausea, Doug indulged with me and gained 10 pounds. He never threw up, but he experienced the daily heartburn. (``No onions on the salad, please.'') He loves pickles and has food cravings.
Since I've been eating a healthier diet of lean protein and vegetables, however, Doug managed to lose those pounds and then some. He looks great.
My result? I kept gaining, and now weigh more than he does.
The couvade syndrome hits late at night, too. During this last month, when I've had to visit the bathroom more often, Doug inevitably would have to go as well. Our downstairs neighbors must be sick of hearing the toilet flush several times a night.
One evening, as we lay in bed watching the baby move under my distorted belly, Doug sighed.
``What does it feel like to have another human being inside your body?'' he asked, his hand stroking what appeared to be a foot. ``I wish I could feel that, too.''
I laughed.
``It's a little strange. Sometimes it feels like I'm on a roller coaster and other times I'm being punched from inside,'' I answered. ``You sound jealous.''
``I am jealous!'' he admitted. ``I mean, this is a miracle. You have a baby growing inside you and I can only play a supporting role.''
I can't get over how enamored he's become of this baby girl. It wasn't enough to paint the nursery, decorate the walls, build a changing table and buy a rocker.
He sifts through the adorable baby clothing we've been given, lovingly folding and putting them away, after washing them in Ivory Snow. He calls from work every day to make sure I'm OK. And, to prove that the couvade syndrome is real, Doug has been slammed with the nesting instinct. His nights and weekends are spent frenetically cleaning, dusting, rearranging furniture, doing the dishes, organizing files, washing windows, mopping floors, you name it.
At least I still cook.
He's praying that this nesting urge will hit me. Just for a little while. Slob that I am, it's highly unlikely. I'm enjoying watching him take over my former chores. I've been operating in a severe denial mode. Baby? What baby? I work, come home exhausted and pretend that my humongous belly isn't resting on my legs. Or that I can't bend over to tie my shoes anymore.
I hate to admit it, but we didn't even get a bassinet until last weekend - at Doug's urging, just weeks before my Dec. 5 due date. I guess I was thinking she could sleep in one of our drawers.
I'm hoping that this couvade thing lasts after birth. Maybe he'll even be able to lactate. by CNB