Dads in focus MM
My wife had opted for a natural birth because she didn’t want to miss out on the experience. I gently suggested that a C-section might be easier for her. Why take the scenic route when you can jump on the motorway? After all the anxious build-up and huge amounts of pain for Rachel, almost
no progress occurs for 18½ hours. And, I have to admit, it’s pretty boring. Rachel can’t walk around (she’s hooked up to heart-monitoring machines) and making small talk feels a bit weird, so we just sit there. The most excitement we get is when she becomes convinced she needs a poo, but instead it’s a really long, baritone fart that sounds like a ferry docking. I decide to try and finish reading The Expectant Dad’s Handbook (I couldn’t
finish it beforehand as I’d been revising the birth plan), which causes a farcical moment when the midwife comes in and sees what I’m reading. ‘Bloody hell, you’ve left it late, haven’t you?’ ‘It’s okay,’ I assure her. ‘I’ve nearly finished it.’ I’m on page 23. By the time I get to page 178, Rachel is still in early labour.
11.45am In an apt foreshadowing of actual parenthood, sleep is impossible. We find more and more mind-numbing ways to pass the time, like playing that alphabet game you often do on long car journeys, the one where you take turns to think of something beginning with each letter of the alphabet. Rachel made it very clear before we got to the hospital that I was not
to make her laugh during the birth. Unfortunately, I tend to deal with stressful situations by making inane and moronic comments, so this is becoming a challenge. ‘Please, please, don’t make me laugh,’ she repeats. ‘Even if you poo the bed?’ I decide definitely not to say. She also tells me that under no circumstances am I to ask questions
whenever she has a contraction as ‘Are you okay?’ or ‘Does that hurt?’ will not help, especially if she is in too much pain to answer. A contraction arrives. It is pretty intense. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘That’s a question!’ ‘Is it?’ ‘So is that!’ ‘Sorry! Erm, let me know if you’re okay?’ I suppose anything is a question if you pronounce it in a certain way. In the
end, I just keep my mouth shut for nearly 27 hours as we wait for the twins to arrive. I haven’t waited this long to see someone since I went to watch Guns’n’Roses in concert aged fourteen.
1.25pm My wife slogs through labour with strength, grace and a creative use of the English expletive system. And every time we think we’re close, they run a check and tell us that we are at least a couple of hours away from anything happening. By now, I’ve polished off The Expectant Dad’s Handbook so I inform Rachel that I’m now technically ready for the babies to arrive. She looks at me with more contempt than I could ever describe using merely language. I’d need sound effects and pyrotechnics to do it justice but, thankfully, about 20 minutes later, she enters active labour.
5.27pm Another four hours later, Rachel reaches the final stages of labour. The pain and adrenaline must have taken her to a hyper state of intelligence as she rifles through the entire alphabet without giving me a look-in. I decide not to pull her up on the rules of the game that specifically state you must take turns with the other player, mainly because she is shouting at the top of her lungs again, demanding another category.
5.29pm In the middle of all of this absurdity, the top of Zac’s head appears. I move myself down between Rachel’s legs - I want to be at the coalface for this momentous occasion even though I’m not entirely sure I want to witness what is about to happen. I brace myself. Here we go. Then Ben’s heart rate drops and he goes into
distress - perhaps he doesn’t want to be left alone in there, even for just a few minutes. The consultant is taking no chances and opts for an emergency C-section. Turns out 26 hours on the scenic route led directly to the motorway anyway.
Emotionally, this was going to be the most amazing journey of our lives. Logistically, this was going to be a fecking nightmare
5.32pm The rest of the team appear like a medical flash mob and general anaesthetic is being administered to Rachel as they explain to me that I can’t stay with her for this part. There’s a general mood of chaos following her out of the room and, for the first time since the 24-week scan, I have some seriously dark thoughts. What if something goes wrong? What if this really is goodbye? Rachel looks like a frightened little girl as she
disappears from view and I’m ushered into a tiny waiting room that has three chairs and a coffee table with a copy of Take a Break magazine.
5.37pm I’m just becoming engrossed in the true-life story of a paternity battle when the midwife comes running in and tells me I am the father of two beautiful boys. ‘Beautiful! So they’re not mine?’ I un-hilariously quip.
She gives me a hug then runs off with my phone to take some pictures. Now, let’s be honest here. Newborn babies aren’t nearly as cute as they become a few minutes later. Like a good roast chicken they need to stand for a minute or two before they’re ready. So let’s just say that the first photos she showed me most definitely weren’t going on our mantelpiece anytime soon.
5.44pm But then, she brings them both into the waiting room for me to hold, beautifully swaddled in white towels, eyes closed like puppies. Puppies that look a bit like me. And that’s when it hits me in the gut that this is one of those moments in life that will never leave me, like my wedding day, or that time they opened a new till at Aldi and I managed to scoop up all my shopping in one hand and dive to the front. Magic. They are so still and peaceful, their only movements
are their teeny, tiny nostrils flaring ever so slightly to take in their first breaths. The midwife leaves the room to give me a moment with them and, as my eyes fill up with a joy that I haven’t ever felt anything close to, I notice that the blanket on one has moved slightly over his mouth. Parental programming 2.0 kicks in and I think, I’d better just move that away a bit, but realise I don’t have a free hand to do so. Can I put one of them down? Crap. Can’t do that either. OMG, one’s started wriggling… ‘MIDWIFE! GET BACK IN HERE!’ Emotionally, this was going to
be the most amazing journey of our lives. Logistically, this was going to be a fecking nightmare.
Modernmum 49
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