Since before Rob and I got married, my family has joked about what we can expect in the delivery room the day I give birth to our first child. The family consensus is that I’ll be pushing, swearing and doing the mom-in-labor thing, and Rob will be passed out on the floor.
Quickly after meeting Rob, my family discovered Rob’s deep squeamishness when it comes to all things gross and/or painful – including surgery, horrific injury and needles. Thus, when I announced my pregnancy, my mother very quickly suggested that I have a back-up labor coach. At one point, when I assured her that Rob could handle the job, I could almost swear I saw tears of worry shimmering in her eyes. I know she just wanted to be sure that her daughter has someone, well, conscious to help during the labor and delivery, but I didn’t know how to convince her that she had nothing to worry about.
Yesterday, Rob and I attended our first childbirth class, and Rob confirmed what I already suspected – that he’s more than ready to see me through that long day when our daughter (or son) finally arrives.
Much of the class was taken up with a childbirth video, which I had been awaiting with a certain amount of dread, certain that watching women give birth would make me start bargaining with God, trying to figure out some alternative plan for getting the baby out of me. And I had some fear that the entire class would be disrupted by my husband vomiting on the floor during the worst scenes.
None of that happened.
Instead of revulsion, we experienced nothing short of complete awe. Something clicked inside both of us, and we finally realized that not only is this baby the most important thing we’ve accomplished so far in our lives, but that bringing her into the world is something we CAN do.
Both of us.