As an old great-grandfather-wannabe, I was recently reflecting on some first-child experiences.
Men are ill prepared for the birth of their children, especially the first one. As a result, these new fathers can offer some pretty hilarious sidebars to the birth, which is a tremendous physical marathon for mothers.
New dads are a pitiful lot and make for hilarity in their misunderstanding of the rigors for a woman in childbirth. It’s no wonder that scores of comedians have created extraordinary humor with this whole process of childbirth, particularly with reference to the utter ignorance often displayed by new dads.
My first-born-child experience occurred a little more than 50 years ago and just the waiting room goings-on are a stitch now … at least the parts I can remember.
Times, methods, science and maternity health care have changed immensely in that half-century. So has the knowledge finally shared with expectant fathers. We’ve even reached a point where dads are allowed to share somewhat in the birth process, such as being in the labor and delivery rooms. Not so in that long-ago eon.
A certain sophistication has come about for new dads in their being allowed to experience, as much as possible, the experience of their child’s birthing.
With the birth of my first child, I was in the dark a great deal of the time.
This took place in Houston’s Methodist Hospital.
We had that first child by appointment, i.e., labor was induced, so we presented ourselves at the set time. While the mother-to-be was ushered into the preparation and care section, we about-to-be-daddies were shown to a special new-father waiting area. Yeah, I know, Stone Age.
Almost to a man, this miserable collection of clueless new dads bore books, magazines and smelling salts – no champagne bottles and cork screws allowed – as they prepared to sit and wait for a nurse to stick her head out and announced, “girl” or “boy” to the pathetic gathering. In those days, there was still quite a bit of mystery as to what the sex of the expected child would be.
I was no different than most of those expectant fathers. I had a couple of newspapers (what else) and they contained my lifelong-addiction … crossword puzzles … as if my mind could wrap itself around those puzzles and produce an expected plethora of answers and solutions.
That long ago time did produce one humorous experience.
Fifty-plus years ago, the mini-skirt was making its daring debut, much to the delight of husbands and to the disdain of wives-mothers whose bodies had been ravaged by the rigors of pregnancy and childbirth.
In those slow, dragging, waiting minutes, we dads – “deprived” of the marital bed for weeks and weeks –º were sitting there numb-minded when suddenly the new phenomenon made its debut for this pathetic collection of expectant fathers.
This gorgeous, quite shapely redheaded woman slowly swayed by all us soon-to-be new daddies. She glided to the doorway to the labor rooms, turned and tauntingly swiveled by us on her way back out. Every man’s chin was on his chest.
But no one rose to check out her availability. Nerves won out.
Twelve hours after checking in, I was informed that both mom and new baby were doing well. I didn’t recognize then the challenges and the enormity of the task of raising a child.
As the oldest of four children, all boys, I already knew how to perform all the physical tasks involved in taking care of a new baby. Shucks, I thought, nothing to it. Live and learn.
Willis Webb is a retired community newspaper editor-publisher of more than 50 years experience.
wwebb@att.net.
