Fear and Loathing in the Birth Tub

“I’m sorry,” I said, my attention jolted back to the conversation at hand. “What was the question again?”

“Oh I was just asking, as the father, what are your hopes and priorities for this labor and delivery?” our doula graciously repeated, with my wife looking on.

A vacuous smile languished on my face as I weighed the stakes of my answer. Seconds ticked by. Is this a crowd that values honesty – “How about I go sleep somewhere else and you guys call me when it’s all over?” Probably too much honesty. I went with diplomacy. “I’m just looking to support Holly and help make this experience a win for her.”

Nailed it. That answer seemed to get me out of the conversational crosshairs. I was free to continue coaching myself past the volley of uncomfortable phrases, like a weary boxer in the final rounds.

“It all depends on the thickness of your amniotic sack …” Bob and weave!

“When you lose your mucus plug …” Get off the ropes, kid!

“That’s a great time to begin nipple stimulation …” Stick and move!

The internal world of an expectant father is fraught with anxiety. Not only because, for nine months, conversations can take unexpectedly horrifying pivots – “So how should we utilize the placenta post-partum?” – but also because you’re never quite sure if your occasional aversion to the act of birth makes you a complete loser, hopelessly stationed on the outside of life’s most important event.

Stepping past my juvenile antipathy for the birthing process, it’s objectively wonderful, amazing and miraculous. Full stop. No questions about it. So what does it say about me that I’d be groovy if we were still in the 1960s and fathers were smoking cigars and reading the sports page in the hospital waiting room, before strolling by the delivery ward and commenting, “Huh, what do you know? It’s a boy.”

As the Good Lord would have it, I married a woman who not only possessed a highly developed sense of romanticism around birth, but also aspired to deliver naturally. “So let me get this straight … you want it to be more painful?” I remember asking early on, trying to bridge the cognitive gap.

Years passed. Conversations were had. Concessions were made.

Since then we’ve set sail on four natural birth attempts, most recently in 2019. Three successful. And two at home. I’m no longer a newbie. I can assemble a birthing tub faster than you can say “the cervix has ripened.”

You’d think by this point we’d be on the same page about the travails of a home birth – the tarps to contain the carnage, the sleeplessness, the guttural noises, etc. That has not proven the case. I thought I was on crazy pills when my wife waxed poetic about the beautiful memories she had of her birth experiences. Then the reason for the dissonance struck me – after that bundle of joy exits the birth canal, one of us is left basking in a massive release of rose-colored dopamine afterglow. The other is on his knees mopping afterbirth fluids off the ground.

Those dynamics are unlikely to change. So what conclusions can we draw from here?

If I don’t like labor and delivery, am I still a good father? If I’d rather storm the beaches of Normandy than assist in a natural birth, can I still be a good a good husband? Is it possible I will never learn the proper amount of pressure to apply to my laboring wife’s sacrum? The answer to all these questions is a resounding yes.

Bottom line: You can still be thoroughly supportive of your wife’s birth plan and remain an unabashed “outsider.” The acts of loving your children and loving the mechanism through which they’re brought into the world are wholly exclusive from one another.

So what do we do? What is the way forward? Glad you asked. A few tips from this battle-scarred veteran …

Educate yourself as best you can. Stay engaged in the process. Your spouse will notice. Be especially aware of your body language. Resist the temptation to make snide remarks (I’ve paid dearly for this one). Know that with birthing decisions, she owns 51% of the company. You need to get comfortable deferring when it’s within reason. It is most often likely that soon-to-be mothers, unlike fathers, have had dreams related to their children’s birth for most of their lives. Those are dreams you want to help facilitate. Appreciate the fact that there are OB/GYNs, midwives, and doulas out there who are consummate professionals. Go find one of them, listen to them, and let them do the heavy lifting. Lastly, fake it till you make it. That’s right – take the anxiety, fear and aversion, tuck it way down deep in your gut and process it later. Tackle that labor and delivery with a manufactured smile, a quickness to serve, and (highly recommended) a glass or two of wine.

Ultimately, though, accept that you are who you are. And nothing is likely to change that.

“Dad, would you like to come see the head crowning? Catch the baby? Cut the cord?”

Thank you, no. I’m good up here. You all cover the business with the nether-regions and I’ll take over from there through college.