What not to say to a pregnant woman

My wife is six months pregnant as she asks me how she looks. "You look normal and healthy, like you're pregnant," I reply. Wrong answer. She already knows this (the pregnant part) and for her, this is a bad thing; she wants to have the baby without actually looking like she's having the baby.

I try again, this time smiling a crooked smile, the kind that screams fear: "You look, sexy?"

Wrong answer, again.

First off, she knows, as a husband, you're supposed to say that and pity is not something she wants.

Secondly, she hears the question mark. Being pregnant, she hears everything; she hears the dog licking his paws from three rooms away.

Finally, I try once more using pregnant pauses after each word: "You... look... over there!" And when she does, I run.

I'm not doing well as a supportive first-time father to my wife, whose pregnancy thus far has been anything but smooth sailing.

At one point, the word globby came out of my mouth when describing a body part.

I missed the ultrasound appointment (I know, terrible), and my input has too often been: "Whatever you want."

Her pregnancy has been so rocky, she's unsure if she can survive another day, let alone three more months of this torment.

Her body has been taken over by another, and her mind is being bombarded with emotions and mood swings that you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. I try to help, but when I do, I only make it worse.

I'm wrecking things. I'm desperate and helpless, which together are like idiot brothers; where you find one, you often find the other.

They've found me at the end of a rope, a rope I sometimes wish was longer so I could have more time and sometimes wish was shorter so this whole thing could be over with.

You see when we're dealing with that thing between our ears that determines what we think, the three pounds of squiggly sausage meat that decides if the world today is a good place, or is downright unlivable, many of us are as helpless as an unborn baby.

Admittedly, there are some guys who have figured this whole husband/dad thing out, and who, by the way, make the rest of us look bad with chat groups and online sites to discuss everything baby.

(A note to them: It's a baby, or 'the baby', never just 'baby').

Before the pregnancy, I thought I could always find the right words. (I am a writer after-all, and I do own a copy of Getting The Words Right by Theodore Cheney).

It was as though My Cup Runneth Over with confidence and knowledge. That cup broke, forcing me to go plastic.

But starting from scratch with an empty cup (a sippy cup this time) isn't so bad.

Empty may feel desperate and helpless, but it represents a container for more, and from all I have heard, I'm going to get much 'more' then I can handle.

If I still felt I knew it all where would all this more go?

I think the next time my wife asks me how she looks, my reply will be: "You look like you need a hug."

Then I'll give her one.