From Here to Paternity (Part 1)

Time sure flies when you don't bother to update your blog or even remember that you have one. Seriously, what's the deal?

So, I last updated this blog on Tuesday, April 8, 2008. The following evening – Wednesday, April 9, 2008 – my wife informed me that she is pregnant with our first child. If you know me, then you know this. If you don't, then now you know why I haven't been writing too much about video games as of late. Also, forgot my blog, etc.

I've decided to blog about childbirth class, because it has been one of the singularly most interesting experiences of my life thus far. We've been sitting in the two-hour, seven-week course, because my feeble brain can't absorb everything in a single day, nor can I retain the attention span necessary I need more water to sit for the better part of a day Day-O was a song in Beetlejuice and learn stuff.

At first, I was nervous about the idea of a "class," because a "class" usually means "school," which my records show I never excelled at for multitudinous reasons. The first class was quite alleviating, as not only did none of the other first-time dads have a clue what they were doing, but their wives were clearly worried about all sorts of things I had never heard of, including some sort of erroneous birthing event that literally rips you a new one. Most of the first session was pretty basic; lots of meet-n-greet type stuff, activities along that line, some of the basics of what we were getting into, that sort of stuff. It was in the second class that things got interesting.

At this point, I feel I must warn you that I will be using some of the raw terminology in regards to various anatomy, so cover your eyes and think of butterflies if using the actual words for what they are makes you squeamish.

In the second class, we saw the video. And by the video, I mean THE VIDEO. You know, the one where you actually see the baby pop out of the (pitiable) mother. Not much grosses me out and this was no exception. I had actually seen a birthing video before, in high school health class, and wasn't exactly put off then, either. That was almost twenty years ago, however, so I felt just the tiniest twinge of trepidation in regards to what we would see, especially since the teacher informed us that we would be watching not one, but two – TWO – birthing videos, one of a delivery with epidural, one by "natural" (or, "insane") delivery.

The lights went down, I hunkered into my seat – there was hunkering – and it began. We start in a delivery room, with a young mother in the throes of labor, ready for the blessed event (likely ready for it to just be over with, I imagine). And here's it became interesting; when the pushing began, we cut away to a cartoon of the baby moving ever-so-gradually towards delivery. There was an audible sigh of relief around the room at this point; apparently, everyone distressed over seeing actual suspicious parts delivering actual babies.

It wouldn't last.

After a few more of these cut-aways, with the baby inching ever closer to its freedom from gestational captivity, we cut away to the pained mother's face (she was the one with the epidural, but still clearly uncomfortable), and then we cut back, not to a cartoon this time, but to the woman's vagina. And there is a mixture of groans from the women in the room, and chuckles from the guys. Let the record show that I was not chuckling, but rather silent, smug in my knowledge that we would certainly be seeing the actual birthing process.

When we cut again to the offending vagina, there is something horrible emerging from it, something small but clearly not small enough to squeeze out without injuring its host. Now the women are turning pale, shockingly clear to all even in the relative darkness. And in the next shot, the baby is now coming out in one big push. And the room is happy again, happier than it was before, with oohs and awws and general love for what we have witnessed. There's something about seeing a baby, even a horribly-hued purple baby, that tickles the emotions of all. A general good feel ran through the room, high-fiving everyone it met.

It wouldn't last.

Seconds later, we are treated to a sight that no one is prepared for: the placenta, held up by the nurse. For those of you lucky enough to have never seen a placenta outside of a textbook diagram, it appeared to strongly resemble a flattened lung that had been marinated in Capri Sun. It occurs to me that this is what the other end of the umbilililical cord had been attached to; I always figured that, once cut, it recoiled back into the woman like an extension cord on a vacuum cleaner. Or maybe I just thought I figured that. At any rate, I wasn't so put off by the sight of the placenta as I was stunned with a second or two of "What in the world is... OH!" Your mileage may vary.

The second video was pretty much the same thing, only without the epidural or the placenta. So we saw the same procedure taking place with a woman who would clearly have gotten up and left in the middle of childbirth if she had the option, but instead had to squeeze out this tiny human whom – from the sound of her pain – must have been covered in barbed hooks or broken glass. This, too, had a happy ending, particularly for us guys who wouldn't be directly experiencing either event from the mother's role.

I think all this has accomplished is to further galvanize my wife's position on pain medication during childbirth, namely to give her as much as legally possible. I am bound by court order that, if the epidural fails, I am to administer anesthesia myself with a giant wooden mallet or similar potentially-lethal comedy prop.

The "relaxation" portion of class concluded with the practicing of breathing exercises. Having done therapy, I realize the therapeutic power of deep breathing and fully endorse it, but I'm not sure what good it'll do when D-day arrives. I'm sure that proper lung capacity is the last thing on a woman's mind when she's trying to push a boulder through a straw, poor-metaphorically speaking. The teacher made it clear that it was the jobs of us "coaches" to make sure she does her breathing exercises during labor, but I know my wife better than that: my job is to get her to the hospital and keep my big mouth shut, for if anything gets me in trouble, it'll have been something I've said. If she wants me to breathe with her, she'll tell me point blank; until then, I will hold her hand (until she tells me to let go), mop her brow (until she tells me to get away), and reassure her during those most difficult moments (until she's lucid enough to reach for the nearest, sharpest object and use it in such a manner to make absolutely sure this situation cannot repeat itself).

I kid, I kid. She's a very independent woman and I'm a good enough husband to know when she needs me and when she doesn't. At least, I think I'm a good enough husband. We'll find out, won't we?

So I look forward to the next class and the experiences it has to offer as we march inexorably towards December 18, to the event we've both been waiting for for so long. Someone else can deal with the placenta.