I remember my dad talking with me about the Birds and the Bees. I knew before the conversation even started that my dad was uncomfortable with what he was about to talk to me about. We sat down on the couch with a book and he basically read it verbatim. I was a rather sheltered child so this was the first time I’d heard the details of how reproduction worked. I know that the fear I now have of the actual process of birth I gleaned from my father that afternoon. The only specific thing I remember from that conversation was my dad’s response to a question I asked after he told me how the baby came out.

“Is that really how it happens? A baby will fit through there?”

I didn’t fully grasp what was about to happen, but I was about to have a small seed of fear planted in my mind in that next moment. My dad answered me with the facial expressions someone might give you when explaining what they saw after a horrific accident.

“Yes son, it is. It hurts the mommy as the baby comes out, but eventually the baby does.” He said.

After what I remember to be a very long pause he thoughtfully added, “You know, it makes you think twice about doing it to her again.”

I was horrified. I remember thinking this birth thing must be awful. If daddy loved mommy so much that he didn’t want to make her have another baby because it hurt her so much it must be… really bad.

Fast forward about 21 years. I’m expecting a baby and my wife is showing me all kinds of births captured on video thanks to YouTube. Of course the moments seared into my memory are when the mother giving birth is yelling or crying and bleeding. Oh the gore. Birth IS NOT like that on TV. Up until recently I’d only seen births on TV or the movies and heard comments from women who have done it before while watching with me saying something like “That’s not how it happens.” or “It’s not that easy.”

Abigail and I are about to start a Bradley Method birthing class on Sunday. I honestly don’t know what to expect. Perhaps some “hee hee whoos” and a focus object, but I don’t really know.

I picture myself being all worked-up like Ross in this clip from FRIENDS, but secretly wish I could do what Joey is planning on doing when he has a kid:

I’m gonna be in the waiting room, handing our cigars!

I hope this class helps me be less like Ross and become much more informed and comfortable with the whole process. Part of my uneasiness about it is the unknown. Although I do admit off-hand comments like the one my brother-in-law made at our gender reveal make me think twice. “Just stay up by the head, stay up by your wife’s head and you’ll do fine.”

Let’s hope so.

Like this post?

  1. I remember the birds and the bees talk my dad had with me. It was uncomfortable, read from a faith based book on the subject, completely uninformative, and given waaaay past the time that I had simply looked up info myself. Oh the memories…

    As to being in the delivery room, I also heard the “stay by her head” advise, but did not take it, and it was not as bad as I was told it would be. Yes, you will see stretching, bleeding, possibly bodily fluids, and possibly more bleeding. Not recommended for the squeamish or easily sickened.

    But it was not the horror story that I was told it would be. My wife did not rotate her head 360 degrees a la The Exorcist, nor did I leave the delivery room muttering “her vagina is ruined, its ruined” over and over.

    Do whatever you are comfortable with, but I think that once the train gets rolling, you will find that it is not as frightening as our minds make it out to be, and you will pick spot that both you and your wife are good with. My wife wanted me close enough to grab, but not so close that I was breathing on her. So I was at the middle of the bed when the action started. From there you can see everything that is going on, and your wife can sink her fingernails in the fleshy part of your hand.

    Best of luck!

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.