For some reason, my mother-in-law gave me this book for Christmas. So I read it, disinterestedly, as you might expect. Who am I kidding? I was hoping for a deeper understanding of what I was supposed to be going through than my friends intoning that I was going to lose some sleep circa the end of this very month. This book provided me some of that.<\/p>\n
At turns, this book: touched my own anxiety and fear (singular, gentle reader; I have but one of each); made me cringe at the differeces between a pregnancy experienced by a native New Yorker and, well, anyone in the rest of the country; made me snigger at the Roberyt Blyian concept of manhood and its attendant rituals; and made me skim the scientificism of some of the speculated parent-child-father hormonal responses.<\/p>\n
Also, the book made me assure Heather, unnecessarily (I hope), that just because I was not puking in the mornings or cooing at other people’s babies in the supermarket, I would be a good enough father to not warrant divorce or murdering while I slept but she fed the baby. The book spends a lot of time talking about couvade, which is either ritualistic or physiological symptoms that the husband has which the author indicates is a subconcious, hormonal way of signalling he’s going to be a good father to the wife. Meanwhile, I’m working for a living, leaving my beautiful wife<\/a> to gestate on her own.<\/p>\n The writing style is hip. By “hip,” I mean it’s readable and contemporary, but uses the word “shit” far too much for non-fiction. Also, the author is intelligent and makes a number of classical allusions that made me feel smart for recognizing them, but unfortunately he also alluded to the classic Roddy Piper film They Live<\/i><\/a> as Them<\/i>, which really makes me wonder if all of his other allusions are mistaken, and whether I am a fool for thinking those other allusions were right.<\/p>\n An interesting enough read, and worth the price I paid. (Sorry, Ms. Igert, I mean, it’s a good book, and thanks!)<\/p>\n