"We're not pregnant, she is," I used to say, wondering a man's role in all this. After all, it was her body changing, not mine.

Then, overnight, everything about me started to bug her. The sound of my breathing, how I moved in my sleep, even the smell of my toothpaste. I'd stand there wondering, 'Wait, what did I do now?'

And it wasn't just her. The baby had a thing or two to say too. I'd try offering it her favorite foods, and the life inside her would say, 'Shove it, mister.'

My list of crimes was endless. I was too loud. I never put the toilet seat down right. I didn't shower enough, walked around too much, and ate too late at night.

Now, I know. Men are the human pain relievers. Safe for use during pregnancy, they're always on hand, no prescription needed. When things get tough, their mere entry into a room with a 'punch me in the face' attitude magically sets everything right.

So, please pardon my brothers everywhere when they proudly proclaim, "She’s not pregnant, we are."