Never Done Teaching Me

I focused on my breathing as we waited for my dad to arrive. He hadn't met any of his grandchildren yet and it felt right to me that he be present for the first breaths of this one. So far, he was who I called on when I was nervous or scared. He'd always reassured me that life would turn out okay and guide me when I needed a push in the right direction. This was the most nervous I've ever been.

Daniel held my hand as another contraction hit. The pain wasn't as bad as I thought it would be and I had seen him with his daughter. He was a good father and I trusted him to help me become a good mother. We had gotten engaged only weeks before finding out that I was expecting my first child and his third. Much of his life situation at the time was in my own opinion unfair and his ex, in a display of bitterness, did all she could to keep him away from the two children she had with him. I could ensure this time he wouldn't be treated unfairly. As long as I had a say in it, our son would never be withheld from him.

My dad came into the delivery room, and we waited for the nurse to check my progress. They determined that I had come to a virtual standstill and manually broke my water to encourage my labor to progress. I realized soon after how much that fluid had been preventing the worst of the pain. It wasn't long before I couldn't tell when one contraction ended and the next began.

Both my dad and my fiancé tried to comfort me when I started screaming. They rubbed my shoulders and back and tried to walk me through breathing exercises. Both offered comforting words and told me to focus on the final goal. They took turns telling me how happy I would be when I held my baby for the first time.

Unfortunately, in all that pain any sense of logic I had was temporarily lost. I sought my dad's comfort and pushed my child's father away. To this day I still don't remember much of what I said, only that I did not want Daniel touching me and that, try as I might, he would not stop talking. I realize now that he was trying to help, and everything he said was gentle and kind. At the same time however all I saw was an annoyance and I irrationally blamed him for my pain.

I saw the pain in his eyes from my harsh words, but I didn't care at the time. My dad, having been through this several times already, told him repeatedly to take it with a grain of salt. It wasn't that Daniel didn't believe his advice. He did. It still helped to hear it repeated because I was apparently being really mean. It's like when a person has a constant nagging voice in their head only giving them a negative point of view about themselves and having that one person keep saying that their anxieties are not the truth is what gets them through the day. My dad was going to get him through this. He reassured him that later on I wouldn't mean any of it and probably be embarrassed to have said it at all. He was right and Daniel stayed with me even after I said some things that night that would make most men give up and leave.

Several times the nurse came in and asked if I wanted any pain killers. I kept saying no, even when I got to a point where all I could do was scream and I barely registered anyone talking to me. I could feel my dad's warm hand on my back, a small source of comfort in this cold hospital room. This time the nurse waited and asked me if I was sure. Soon it would be too late to administer any drugs and I would have to go without even if I changed my mind.

I looked over my shoulder at Dad. In all my life I had only seen him close to tears when he was proud of me or a sibling. He'd cried only once in front of me and that was at a funeral. I'd seen him go through the worst of emotional blows, only to set his temper and deal with the situation by combining enough anger to demand attention with the logic needed to shut down those causing the problem. That night as I let out another agonized scream, I saw the toughest man I had ever known lose a tear from his eye down his cheek.

I didn't normally view myself as prideful, although after that night I would come to realize I held onto more pride than I needed to. The night of my son's birth I let my pride get in the way of what should have been my better judgement. I wanted to try this the most natural way I could. Don't get me wrong. I also believed that it didn't matter how a child was born as long as the child was loved and raised with values afterwards. I had simply always tried to show as much strength as I could and felt ashamed of accepting anything I deemed unnecessary help. Perhaps I wanted to be strong enough to know I could do things on my own if I had to or maybe I just didn't like feeling like a burden. Since both of those possibilities occurred to me and felt right it was probably both.

Dad taught me a lot throughout the years, and I was an adult. I realized when I saw him crying for his little girl's pain that I still had some things to learn from him. That night the lesson was that sometimes in life it would be okay, and often actually better, to accept help instead of doing things the most difficult way humanly possible. Being offered pain killers by a nurse in a hospital whilst all I could do was scream in agony was definitely one of those times. I was wasting energy screaming I would later need to push.

Within minutes of having an epidural placed I had gone from being Daddy's little psycho, and I do mean Harley Quinn level psycho, to being a high as a kite hippie, daydreams of peace, love, and rainbows included. I tried to hug the nurse. To clarify why that was strange I had not appreciated her telling me that screaming wouldn't help when screaming had actually given me small moments of not even feeling the pain. I didn't like her and even high on the epidural I still didn't, but I still wanted to hug her. I cried and apologized to Daniel and thanked him for not leaving me. I think I also got insecure and begged him not to leave me. He laughed and assured me that was not in his plans, and he knew I hadn't meant anything I had said. I also texted anyone I had spoken to in the last few weeks to tell them I loved them and wanted to hug them. My brother figured out rather quickly that the pain killers had me flying. My attitude towards my dad hadn't changed much though since I had been nice to him the whole time...I think. He never mentioned me saying anything mean to him anyway and I never recalled being anything but happy to have him nearby. The pain was gone, and I was no longer angry.

I honestly can't remember much of the rest of that night. Daniel and Dad told me I had taken a nap and woke up when it was time to push. Some thoughts I recall having make me think that I stayed strong and ignored the urge to have that movie drama moment where the mother to be tried to give up and needed a pep talk for those last few pushes. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to see my fiancé and my dad each hold my son. So I focused on that goal.

What I do recall quite well after they shut the medication pump off is seeing Dad hold Ryan. There were tears in his eyes again. This time though, they were of joy and pride. This was his first time holding one of his grandchildren. He later expressed feeling honored. Not many men could say they got to be in the room to watch their grandchild be born. I was glad that I chose him to be there that night.