So much of the hullabaloo surrounding pregnancy is focused on the mom-to-be — for obvious reasons. And I'm not going to lie: I love the attention. But sometimes, I worry that I'm leaving my husband out of the equation. 

He may not be carrying our baby, but he's barrelling blindly toward parenthood just as I am. And I couldn't do it without him.

So here he is, the man who holds my hair back while I barf; cooks me exorbitant breakfasts on demand; rubs my back; fetches my industrial-size bottle of Tums; watches with awe as my belly grows; and dreams with me about our new family. His name is Daniel, and last week, I interviewed him about his impending fatherhood.

MEGAN: Have you always wanted to be a dad? 

DANIEL: I didn't always want to be a dad. When I was 7 or 8 my oldest sister Jean had her first kid. I had to hold the baby on the couch. It was one of those things that you do when everyone is oohing and aahing about the miracle of life. Someone asked me if I was ready to be an uncle at so young an age. I shrugged my shoulders. Someone else asked me if I wanted to have my own children one day. At the time, the answer was a solid no. I didn't mind that my sister had just had a baby, but the thought of me having one of my own was appalling.

However, in sixth grade, I started officially dating my first girlfriend. I knew it was official because she had written her telephone number on a scrap of paper and given it to me. I carried her number straight home, clenched in my fist, and carved it into the top of my dresser with a utility knife. And, while I still had the knife in my hand, I started imagining what our children would look like, hers and mine. I didn't feel particularly happy or sad so much as tremendously accomplished. I had crossed a threshold. I knew then that I would have kids, and I would have them with her. She broke up with me a week later.