Men, for the most part, don't worry about fear. No, we're all tough guys and "ain't afraid of nothin'," as my friends put it. To show how nothing bothers us we scribble it across the front of our cars. "Fear this!" proclaims the windshield of a 1982 Chevrolet Chevette in my neighborhood. Rats, mice, snakes -- just animals to be caught and harassed. We watch "Friday the 13th" and boast, "Yeah, let's see how long he would have lasted at one of our family reunions! We'd take that stupid hockey mask off and feed it to him!" That's the way we are made. Tough, ornery, chest-beaters. That's not to say that there aren't things that make us flinch. Being left alone in the lingerie department gives me a serious case of the willies. But there are larger issues that do nag at our independence. This issue is not of invasion from a foreign race from space. Or even of the possibility of a television blackout of a baseball game during the pennant race. That one's almost too scary to write about! But even as large as this fear is for men, there's one other worry that strikes deep into the heart of all guys. It's worse than, "Honey, I wrecked the car," or even, "My mother's coming to live with us!" Those aren't even close. Standing out away from and beyond any other statement, gliding just past our ability to see like a shadow on the evening sky, hover those three little words: "Honey, I'm pregnant!"

This isn't to say that we're not happy -- because we're dangerously bordering on a joy-induced coma! By and large, we spend the next few hours grinning like a monkey in a banana factory. But we are also scared to death! Oh sure, for the first couple of months we're the King. We walk around all pumped up, slapping other guys on the back. Heck, we even slap guys we don't like. It's not because we're so jazzed up that we want to make amends. We just take the opportunity to hit them without fear of retribution. "Hey buddy!" (smack!) "Gonna be a dad!" (smack, smack.) He can't get mad because he'd be doing the same thing if the situation were reversed. Smiling broadly, we strut on across the room looking for more backs to slap. Women talk and hug when they're happy; we slug each other. It's a guy thing.

To be honest, it takes a while for the word "daddy" to sink in. When you're in your late teens or early 20s, the word "daddy" followed by your name will place you in a catatonic state! Now, though, it's okay. It's like when someone gives you a strange nick-name and you put up with it because it's cool and new. So "daddy" is kind of strange for the first couple of months. But it also feels good. It delivers you from husband to father. You're still glowing and happy. There's nothing that can bring you down -- at first. It's usually when someone says, "Yeah, wait until you mix strained carrots with formula! Boy, the long distance vomit attacks can last for hours! Hope you plan on painting." The first twinge of doubt worms its way into your brain.

Then someone mentions how much fun it is to be in line at the bank and have your little cherub start screaming like a wild banshee. "Oh, yeah, man, there's no place to hide! Even the security cameras zoom in on you. You just try to ignore it while your child starts stabbing you with the pen! Luckily, it's on a chain so it can't do any real damage." Now you have patience to worry about. Since the dog's scratching bothers you, how can you handle something as fragile as a child?

Content on this site is not a substitute for professional medical or healthcare advice, diagnosis or treatment, and may not be used for such purposes. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical question or condition. Reliance on information presented on this site is at your own risk. This site contains the opinions and views of other users. Given the interactive nature of this site, we cannot endorse, guarantee, or be responsible for the accuracy, efficacy, or veracity of any content generated by our users.