The day your first child is born is a day you'll never forget. And with the help of Hollywood, books and the been-there-done-that brigade, you know exactly what to expect.
We've seen the joy depicted on screen countless times. The father emerging from the delivery room, ecstatic to reveal the gender of the newborn baby to a waiting room full of friends and family.
And boy do we buy into it. My goodness, that level of emotion and reciprocity from the entire world is the benchmark for the arrival of that first baby.
But it's absolute drivel
Or, I should say, at least in my experience it's absolute nonsense. The way I romanticised that day in my head was nothing like my experience. And I remember feeling so guilty about it. Guilty and angry. Guilty because I felt like I was wasting this experience by not mirroring everything I'd been told and read about, and so angry at the world for not being honest with me.
So I'll be honest with you here.
The day your first child is born is incredible, sure, but it's also horrific. And I'm not even talking about the nature of a human coming out of another human, and all the blood and screaming and passing out that occurs as a result of it.
Yeah so I passed out a couple of times, it was a long day for me.
No, blood and gore aside, that day was unbearable. I'm aware, by the way, that a man saying this is pretty ridiculous but it's the truth. There's no way to prepare mentally for the arrival of a child. Unless you've done it before, and I hadn't.
The lead up
Most of the days leading up to the birth were spent worrying about logistics and making sure my wife felt like everything was under control and I had it all taken care of. I'm not in the habit of lying to her but she was particularly moody around this time so I felt it was justifiable. And for the most part, everything was handled and I had all my ducks in a row. There were just one or two ducks that would wander off and cause me to have a mild panic attack in silence so as not to concern my beautiful but very irritable wife.
Then the day came and it was just a blur. My wife had arranged to be induced which, to this day, I can't tell you how that came about. I remember thinking it felt odd to book at time in to have a baby like she was making a salon appointment. But once we had the time and the day, she felt so much more at ease and began to relax. Ok she didn't relax but it was definitely a significant weight lifted.
She was having a baby at 2pm on Saturday.
It didn't relax me at all though. All I could think about was “What if something happens to either of them?” because I'm useless at almost everything, I was pretending to be competent while she was pregnant. She knows I don't have any clue who our insurance is with or what setting the washing machine needs to go on for bedsheets. But I adore this woman.
I'd allowed myself to forget how dangerous childbirth can be.
The labour
My wife did have a rough time of it. Our son was born via caesarean section and he spent the first few hours of his life in the ICU. She didn't even get to hold him.
And there I was, useless as ever, praying to a God I've never spoken to before that I could just be at home with my wife and our new baby boy, making promises of remembering which setting the washing machine goes on for bedsheets that we all knew was a lie.
Hollywood told a bunch of porkies, folks. I didn't find anything remotely enjoyable about the experience, though naturally, I'm sure many will disagree with me and to those fortunate few, I envy you. But for us, it was a nightmare until we were home with our newborn baby after its first day at the hospital, everyone was safe and comfortable and happy to begin our new life as a family of three. Oh, and the bedsheets go on a cold regular cycle.
