"Come here often?"
Hey Guy,
I know the whole group technically introduced ourselves in class today, so I’m kind of a jerk for not remembering yours. I think it was Bill, but I don’t know. I hope you won’t be offended if I call you Guy.
Not gonna lie – I was really relieved to not be the only singleton in the class today. I was a little surprised at first that the other person flying solo was male – but hey, no gender bias. Okay, a wee bit of gender bias – but you were polite and sober and took notes on the pamphlets so it was cool. You were a good table-mate.
See, I had been dreading it since Breastfeeding 101 when I saw that 95% of the people in attendance were couples. After deciding that it was best that my husband miss the child birthing class so he’d have fewer graduate classes when the baby arrived – I was not looking forward to flying solo in what I knew was going to be a four-hour “couples skate” at the “Nightmare Fuel Roller Rink”. I mean, dude, let’s be real. We knew watching a baby being born was going to be horrifying. But at least when you hose that sucker down – there’s something chubby and cute underneath the gore.
But delivering the placenta?! SERIOUSLY?! You know what you get when you hose that down? A one-legged jellyfish that just got initiated and is limping out of the human body. Gross, right? I know you agreed with me, because we both made those sounds of revulsion and we both seemed quietly apprehensive about what the next 4 hours would bring.
Guy, I soon realized that it was more than a small world coincidence that we shared a table today. During the introductions, I don’t know why I felt compelled to let the group know that my husband had doctoral classes. Maybe after listening to the dozen or so men introduce themselves and their wives (which I found more than a little creepy — seeing as how the ladies seemed capable of both carrying a new life and speaking for themselves), I felt the need to mention that I was not one of Zeus’s conquests, but rather, an academic widow for the day. I also thought I was going to win the award for most pregnant person there. (I’m due the 13th, others were due in Sept/Oct/Jan, and one other woman was due the 18th.) But you, my quiet and polite table-mate, were anticipating a baby on the 12th of August, but your wife was on bed-rest so you came to class alone.
I thought this was an incredibly sweet gesture. Seeing as how I spent the previous night trying to justify *not* having to go a class that spent four hours detailing in vivid color how much pain I would experience in the next 20 or so days, I felt like I probably had more of an obligation to attend than you did. I don’t know. Maybe you did something wrong and this class was redemption. Maybe you didn’t really want to be there. But the way I figure, you could have signed in, grabbed the information packets and went to Buffalo Wild Wings for the four hours only to go home and act horrified. But you didn’t.
And I get the feeling you didn’t just go because you had to. I also have the feeling you’re going to be a good dad.
I didn’t make this decision, Guy, until the last 15 minutes of class. When the nurse told everyone to get on the floor to practice breathing exercises as couples, I think we both felt a bit of dread. I obliged. You sat quietly at the table. When she told the men to lay on their sides and practice their breathing, and told you to “assume the position” – I felt for you. Clearly, we were about to embark on a sympathy exercise for the dads in the room that were acting super non-chalant the whole time.
Now, when she began to instruct the men to practice “pushing”…that is when it felt like class jumped the shark. Grown men, on their backs, legs spread, knees to chest – being told to breathe deep and push “like you’ve been constipated for three weeks” (her exact words, right?), the giggles erupted. She’d lean over each dad, one by one, and pretend to deliver a baby. A couple of guys obliged, but many refused to “push”, acting way too cool for the activity. The women weren’t allowed to push because, even though we were in the hospital, it wasn’t worth the risk.
When she walked over to you, I expected a polite “No, thanks”. You’re in a child birth class. Alone. Being asked to lay back spread eagle, grunt, squeeze and pretend to give birth in a room full of strangers? Even I would have backed out.
So imagine my surprise when you obliged the nurse, and without any friends or comrades nearby to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation with jokes or giggles, you gave the imaginary birth your best effort. You squeezed and grunted and followed her instructions. She complimented your efforts and moved on to other couples with fathers who were much more concerned about maintaining their cool than participating in the activity.
It didn’t feel like the right time for the woman without a husband to lean over and tell you how awesome it was that you played along. We hadn’t spoken the 3.8 hours before hand – and you seemed content to mind your own business. It may not have been a big deal to you, but as a relative stranger, it restored my faith. I was irked with the men who were more concerned about cutting up during class and speaking on behalf of their wives. It felt like for 50% of the room, this class was about a major life experience that the other 50% were reluctantly obligated to take part in. When I saw these ‘fathers’ refusing to act absurd for 20 seconds in front of their wives and other strangers, I thought they were a bunch of Grade-A Capri Sun juice bags (to put it lightly).
But you were willing to take part and try to experience what your bed-ridden wife (who I’m sure, if she’s on bed rest for medical reasons, is terrified about) will be experiencing about the same time I will be. Maybe we’ll cross paths in this very hospital. Who knows? I believe that this willingness to forego appearance for the sake of sympathizing with someone else will make you a wonderful father and husband. I don’t think that is something that can be taught in a class. I don’t think many people – male or female, expecting or not, have the capacity to try to “push in someone else’s pelvis”, so to speak. I can only imagine on those flustered, heart wrenching days – your daughter will be lucky to have a dad she can confide in. A dad who may not know how to solve her problems, but will most definitely be willing to sympathize and do his best. I can’t honestly say the same about the other men in that room today.
So, Guy – even though I can’t remember your name – I just wanted to commemorate how awesome I thought you were. Keep up the good work. We need more men, more fathers, like you in this mixed-up backwards world.
And don’t worry, I’m sure that if things were reversed, if Corey were at class and I was on bed rest, he would have tried to push out the baby as well. Whether or not he’d ever tell me about it (knowing that I probably would have teased him about it, because I’m neither noble nor mature) is a different story. But as much as I could tell that you’re cut out for the terrifying job ahead of you – you helped me appreciate how wonderful of a father I know Corey will be.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make Corey practice his pushing.
Sincerely,
The Lady With the Itchy Belly
