I pulled my hoodie up over my head and laid back down.
The nurse was in the room checking on Madi, my daughter. When her first-child, Eli, was born four years ago, I got there just in time for the little guy’s first cry. I wasn’t going to chance it with this birth, so I drove with my wife, Lori, to the hospital at 3 a.m., which would be ample time before the arrival of Emersyn Grace.
“Too much time,” I grumbled to myself, about an hour after I had settled into a comfortable position in the room.
At least I had enough presence of mind to keep that thought to myself.
“I could have slept through the entire night and still had time to spare.”
I didn’t voice that thought either.
After reading for about an hour, I couldn’t take it any longer and fell asleep, then woke myself with my own snoring, fell back to sleep, and then was awakened again by the nurse.
“Who’s that over there?” she asked. She had obviously heard my snores, and with my hoodie pulled over my head, probably thought I had wandered in off the streets.
“You’d think they could be a little quieter,” I thought before drifting off again. “Don’t they know sleep deprivation can be detrimental to one’s health?”
Oh, I almost forgot to mention that my daughter was in a slight bit of pain during all my napping. Giving birth can be a tad distressing, I’ve been told.
I’m convinced if men gave birth to babies, the human race would have been extinct eons ago. The male species could echo the words of Carly Simon, “I haven’t got time for the pain,” and then follow with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s line, “Gimme me three step towards the door.”
I wince every time I read Carol Burnett’s description of childbirth: “Giving birth is like taking your lower lip and forcing it over your head.”
Watching how composed my daughter was in those hours, I was reminded of the story about the father-to-be when his wife gave birth to their first child.
It was back in the day when men stayed in the waiting room while moms were sequestered in the birthing room. This guy was a bundle of nerves. He was pacing back and forth, wiping his brow, and wringing his hands. Even though he had never smoked, he bummed a cigarette from another man in the waiting room and lit up.
Finally, after several hours, the nurse came in and announced to the new father that his wife had just given birth to a healthy daughter.
“Wonderful,” he gasped. “I’m just glad it’s a girl. At least she’ll never have to endure all the misery I’ve been through tonight.”
Lori and I anxiously waited for John, Madi’s husband, to tell us when Emersyn had arrived.
Wide awake now, I had several books lined up and was prepared to catch up on some reading.
But seconds later, John floated into the room.
“She’s here, she’s here,” he gasped.
I grasped him by the shoulder and steadied him.
And then I smiled at him, amazed that he had so valiantly endured all those hours of labor.