You’re in the twilight hours of your pregnancy surviving the baby shower, Lamaze classes, and pregnancy hormones so intense they make a rectal exam from a longshoreman seem enviable. Just one thing remains — having the baby. If you thought the past forty weeks were rough —just wait.
Being raised in a blue-collar environment taught me not to complicate things that should be left simple. I learned many important life lessons from my high school shop teachers. I know you’re wondering how does something taught by a middle aged man with three fingers on one hand, who spent way too much time inhaling paint fumes apply to childbirth. I learned not to overthink things or take six steps when you only need two.
Expectant parents rarely get an accurate picture of what to expect. Reading parenting books, or loading a few new apps onto your iPhone, doesn’t prepare you for the real thing. It’s like changing your practice doll’s diaper in childbirth classes, then handling a full-fledged blowout.
Ask a mother to describe her childbirth experience and the answer will vary depending on how doped up she was. As someone who’s been there, I can tell you, any mother droning on using words like breathtaking or empowering — that’s the drugs talking — my guess is she was probably doped up on a combination of Vicodin, an Epidural, and some Flintstones vitamins.
If you are looking for a brutally honest description of childbirth, embrace the wisdom of the shop teacher.
Keep It Simple Stupid – During his first class each semester, Mr. Donnelley, my ninth-grade shop teacher, taught students the acronym K.I.S.S, Keep It Simple Stupid. It’s direct and less cruel than ID10T universally used in the Information Technology field.
K.I.S.S should be used whenever an expectant mother’s Hippy Pre-Natal yoga instructor sells her on water birth. Let me guess, you’re planning a Gender Reveal Party too? In twenty years, you’ll be wondering if it was worth the time and effort when their child embraces gender fluidity. Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself but there’s a good chance your child won’t be the next Michael Phelps, so why risk infection or a severed umbilical cord. You can plan your child’s first birthday party at the aquarium.
Childbirth is Not a Dignified Experience – Are you the queasy type whose stomach turns at the sight and smell of a bowl of raw octopus? Does the thought of the doctor, a classroom full of interns, and the janitor checking out your partner’s junk make you uneasy? Wait until you get your first glimpse of the slime-covered, cone-headed mess that’s waiting for you. Remember when your partner came home from Victoria’s Secrets with three shopping bags of lingerie and you demanded a fashion show? After a few pre-natal check-ups, Victoria won’t have any secrets left. If you got here using a test tube and turkey baster, keep repeating, “We really wanted this.”
Picking the Hospital – This should be a no brainer, but people keeping screwing it up. Remember K.I.S.S. Ignore suggestions from your hipster friends suggesting a hospital because they heard the bedding has a high thread count or it’s where Beyoncé had her children.
Babies arrive at the most inconvenient time. Like at three in the morning, in the middle of rush hour, or during a raging snowstorm. If you’re crossing a bridge and tunnel to get to the hospital, the Uber driver might be delivering your child.
Make Those Hormones Work For You — You’ve had a rough pregnancy, and are ten days past your due date. Your unborn child has barred the doors and is giving the doctor the middle finger. She’s tired and moody because the doctor keeps sending her home, saying, “Let’s give it a few more days shall we?”
There’s only one thing to do – piss her off. It sounds cruel, but you’re going to have to trust me on this one. If it’s your 42nd week, she’s gassy and has the hemorrhoids of a long-haul trucker. Trust me you’re doing her a favor, so churn up those hormones and point her at the doctor. If I had done this my son would have been born two weeks and fifty hormonal outbursts earlier.
Its Go Time – The delivery room is where the myths and expectations of childbirth are shattered. It’s not the breathtaking experience you were led to believe, it’s gross, slimy, and eye-opening. My wife and I saw things so scary, we made a pact not to share what really happened with anyone – the way couples do after spending a wild weekend in Vegas.
If you want to foreshadow your childbirth experience, start with the Mucus Plug. When this slimy mess keeping the baby in place pops, it’s Mother Nature’s way of saying, “Let’s get this party started.” What follows are several hours of farting, pooping, and vomiting – kind of like a college frat house on Cinco de Mayo.
Children are rarely born in the O.R., meaning the room the hospital assigns you, is your delivery room. The transformation from hospital room to delivery room is terrifying. Scary looking medical tools and devices appear for mystery compartments. Your tastefully decorated room becomes a fully-equipped bondage chamber any dominatrix would be proud of. I’m pretty sure I saw a ball gag among the medical equipment.
As you watch your better half sliced with the medical equivalent of gardening sheers in ways I won’t describe, be prepared to be a little disappointed. The child you’ve been anxiously awaiting is compressed, cone-shaped, and covered in slime, and your room will need a thorough scouring with industrial strength cleaning products. Most guys experience a Post-Natal PTS. After watching their partners pass something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a hard-boiled egg. This is part of nature’s plan, it gives new mothers the time they need to heal as their men won’t go near them for a few weeks.