I’d like to take a moment to deviate for once on writing about weddings. Instead, I‘d like to scare the wits out any couple about to get married. The subject goes something like this: ‘honey, whooose your mamma?’

So, what’s driven me to write this article? Simple – my wedding couples. I consistently ask them, no, I beg them, to pace themselves. And they consistently take my sage advice and wisdom and turn it on its head. From my point of view, this is how my relationship with my couples goes: I meet them, we get on well together, I spend the most important day of their lives with them, they go on honeymoon, I process their photos. They arrive back from honeymoon, we all get really excited about their photos and then we chat every so often via e-mail, or on Facebook, or on the telephone. Then comes the e-mail. ‘Hi Warren, just want you to know that we’re 6 months pregnant.’ Now let me get something straight here. ‘We’re’ not pregnant, YOU are pregnant. I wasn’t there remember. It’s YOU who are at fault here. I was the one who said, ‘take your time, go slow, no rush, live life a bit.’ But no, YOU were the ones who got all excited on honeymoon, or at the New Year’s Eve party, not me! So let’s drop the ‘we’re pregnant’ part of this. Right, now that we have our stories straight, I’m going to try and help prepare you for a bit of parenting.

Getting pregnant. Fun isn’t it? Whoo-hoo – party time! ‘Wham bam here I am’ and all that sort of thing. And then, one morning: ‘honey, I don’t feel all that good.’ Uh-oh. And so begins that most adventurous journey of all. Man, what a journey. What a wonderful journey, filled with aches, pains, headaches, Braxton Hicks contractions, swollen ankles and a husband who irritates you no matter what he does. Actually, it is an amazing journey, because you are indeed carrying something extremely special inside of you. The vomiting and so on is all just a bit of a sideshow and way too over-rated.

The birth process. Girls, suffice it to say that the birthing process is not supposed to be elegant. It’s not a fashion show and you are not required to look your best. It’s also unavoidable. So go in there and whichever route you choose, try and enjoy the experience and give it your best shot. The doc and midwife will do the rest. Chaps. Chaps, chaps, chaps, chaps. Pull your bottom lip up and over the top of your head. How does that feel? Super. This is what your gorgeous wife is about to go through (in a manner of speaking). Once she’s done and dusted, your attitude towards her is going to change forever, because to you she truly will become the greatest warrior on earth. Now, once your baby has arrived, hold the little thing, cuddle it, prod it, bend its nose to see if everything is real and in working order, then let your wife sleep (she’s pretty knackered right now). Go call your family and friends, light your cigar and drink a beer – your most creative work ever just touched down on planet earth. You legend you.

Going home. If you want sympathetic parental advice you’re not going to find it here! Parenting is darned hard work right from the word go. Your wife has to feed every few hours so expect her to be a zombie for a few months. Your once previously exceptional record of getting lucky 27 times a week is going to drop significantly so get used to it. Girls, your husband is going to feel severely neglected as you pay much more attention to the little one – be mindful of this – he’s actually a really good fellow. Your baby is going to wee, poo, fart and vomit on you. Get used to it, accept it, embrace it and watch your disposable income crash as your monthly nappy purchases go through the proverbial roof.

Growing up. Hide all hairdryers, paintbrushes, cosmetics, model boats, remote controls, wheelbarrows, hosepipes and pets. Oh, and hide all snack foods (toddlers put all popcorn and chips that they taste and don’t like back into the bowl it came out of – and a soggy chip isn’t that great when you pop it into your mouth as Bryan Habana goes over for his third try). In fact, hide everything. And pick up the dog poo or your kid will pick it up for you. With both hands. And bring it to you. Wherever. You. Are.

Starting school. School means you’re going to be properly busy and properly broke forever. In and amongst having to start doing homework (and projects again) literally every day, you’ll also be picking up and dropping off kids and their friends on average 7 days per week (multiply this by another 1 for every extra child you have and the proportions truly do go from the sublime to the ridiculous). Cubs, ballet, extra maths, music, rugby, hockey, tennis, netball, school braai, galas, athletics day, cake-sale duty, school play, camp out. And believe me, that’s just the start. The list goes on and the hours are long. If you ever thought you had the inability to multi-task, school is going to change that perception very, very fast. And these days schools are open Saturdays and Sundays. You think work is tough – try going back to school. Good-bloody-luck – you’re going to need it.

Teenage years. Go and look in the mirror. Remember what you used to be like as a teenager. Okay, now go look at your kid. That’s you, just worse sister. Opinionated, loud, sulky, pimply, trying, emotionally aloof, wild, frighteningly confident and expressive you. Love or hate the teen years, you’re going to learn a lot about yourself (like how much weight you’ve put on since you were sweet 16). Or just how ridiculous your stock standard response to why your teenage kid can’t go out this Saturday night sounds. You’re going to realize that being as honest, frank, straight-forward and open as the school Sex, sorry, Adult Education Guidance Counselor is a nightmare. In fact you sound like a nervous teenager yourself as you go through the drill of pointing out the ‘sexual perils in a modern world.’ The term ‘getting lucky’ is about to take on staggeringly scary proportions for you. And all the time the school is consoling you by simply saying that the kids are simply ‘finding themselves’ and ‘expressing their individuality.’ Nice. Rock on bro. One word of advice – when you open the front door, if the ‘dude’ standing there says: ‘howzit peeps, I’m here to pick up your number one girl,’ just close the door without saying a word and walk away. It’ll work, I promise.