CHILDBIRTH – BEEN THERE, DONE THAT

I have 4 children and I helped deliver all 4. Well, maybe not helped, but I was in the room. Childbirth proves women can be manly too.

Someone should take a blueprint of a woman and a blueprint of a baby to an engineer and present him with this riddle: “This baby is inside this woman (which is creepy in itself) and it has to come out. You can’t make any new holes in the woman to accomplish that. How would you do it?”

The engineer would get out his calculator and spend hours on the computer doing complex calculations and structural studies. He would write stuff on a whiteboard with numbers and letters and arrows and such. He would consult with his fellow engineers throughout the world. He would then finally arrive at the only reasonable conclusion:

“Well, that’s just not possible.”

But it happens.  And it is certainly not easy.  I mean, it is so stressful that during the birth of my son, one of the nurses thought I was going to faint and offered me smelling salts.  I explained that I was a man and didn’t need them and she obviously had me confused with some sissy in another room.

And there was my wife stuggling on the bed trying to deliver this kid. She was making all sorts of noises and straining to push the baby out.  It had to hurt as it’s like trying to pull a bowling ball out of your navel.

And then the nurses and doctor said, “You’re doing good, your doing great!”

Doing good? Doing great? Are you people paying attention here?

THIS IS CHAOS!!!

Then they start saying odd things like, “The baby’s crowning!”

Crowning? And I say nothing because I don’t know if crowning is good thing or a bad thing.

“OK, start pushing as hard are you can. We’re going to deliver the head.  Push with all your might!”

They sound like Captain Ahab telling the crew on the whale boat to, “Row ye mateys! Row for all you’re worth!”

And I start saying, “Breathe, breathe!” – not to my wife but to myself.

My wife’s face in now contorted into a expression I thought only a gargoyle could make.

Where are my smelling salts?

“We going to deliver the head”, they say. “Here it comes, here it comes”.

Push ye matey, push for all you’re worth!

“The head is out!” My wife stops making so much noise and her face begins to take on human form once again.

“OK, you’ll need to push again to deliver the shoulders”.

Deliver the head? Deliver the shoulders? Is this kid coming out in pieces? Am I’m going to have to assemble him when I get home?

And they hold him up and say, “This is your son. He’s beautiful.” But he doesn’t look like the babies you see on TV. You know, all plump and pink and smiling. This one’s kind of an odd color and, well, sort of funny looking. And he is very noisy.

They then whisk him off and he’s crying and they lay him on a cold plastic table and suction him and weigh him and poke him. And I don’t like that and feel bad for him. And I go over and – against all hospital rules – I touch his foot.

I touched his foot!

I’m a Dad!

Thanks Mona.

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4 Responses

  1. You're welcome!

  2. You know, I'm not very excited about this whole childbirth thing. I think I'm okay with not being manly.

  3. I thought doing it two times was hard but Mom is tough as nails.

  4. Can't wait. I'm so glad we've decide to adopt 🙂

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