Perhaps we'll have twins!

I don't mean in the "message board poster who disbelieves the singleton ultrasound" kind of way.

On that note, please enjoy:

No, I mean in the "my dear husband is suffering from man pregnancy" kind of way.

We were watching the news a couple days ago and a short clip on Couvade syndrome came on. I was mesmerized and then laughed loudly and heartily and pointed at him. "That's what you've got!"

And he does.

I'm fatigued, sleeping away the afternoons and the weekends every chance I can find. So's he, and so does he. Despite the fatigue, my nights are restless and insomniac due to a constant need to pee, and the sleep I do get is marred by bizarre, too-real dreams. He too sleeps badly at night, complaining of vivid nightmares and a suddenly small bladder.

"I've got such a terrible headache," he sighs a few times a week, hand to the forehead, as I swallow another dose of fetus-safe painkiller that does little to curb the hormonal-induced pounding in my brain.

I'm still nauseated, even now, although it's much more occasional than before. I recently learned that although baby weighs almost "one fondue," baby doesn't actually like fondue – as well I'd suspected; tragically, the thought of melted cheese turns my stomach, but we were with friends and I'd already shot down the aperitif so couldn't exactly turn down the main course, too. That night I took a bowl to bed with me "just in case" and listened to Gilles beside me, groaning about his own fondue-induced sickness. (Was I sympathetic? What do you think he deserves?)

"I'm fat!" I proclaimed happily, unable – finally – to button my jeans, looking down and hoping that something might be making itself shown. (Baby might now be "one fondue," but I have gained ... nothing.) "I'm fat," he proclaimed less happily, looking down and hoping that nothing was showing. (Really, dear, it isn't.)

As for eating habits, well, who ate all the cornichons? Not me. And the tubs of ice cream sweetly proffered when I felt so miserable? Again, not me.

The signs are clear: the man is expecting. All I can hope is that the baby is mine.