This is it, the final two week countdown (hopefully) until I embrace the trauma, wonder and sympathy pains of my first child being born into the world. But, before I begin to really talk from my […]
This is it, the final two week countdown (hopefully) until I embrace the trauma, wonder and sympathy pains of my first child being born into the world. But, before I begin to really talk from my perspective of this soon to be dad who is clumsy, daft and still at times unable to look after himself, I shall state, categorically for the record that without any doubt we, the male of the species, have it easy compared to what our ladies go through.
Lads, if we even for a second think that we can win at the “who has suffered the most though this pregnancy” game, we would lose, full stop.
There I’ve said it. There is no way I can now get any backlash from heavily pregnant women. (Especially my partner.)
I’m not saying we have it easy though, what with the mood swings that swing in our direction, the flatulence (theirs not ours for a change), the worry and sleepless nights—not to mention the fear we feel in ourselves as our comfort zone changes its name and leaves us forever. And I’ve not even begun to talk about the broke hands and helplessness and physiological damage caused by abuse being hurled our way during the amazing moment of labor. But again, let’s face it. Despite all of this, we still do not have to squeeze something the size of a melon from something the size of a lemon.
Just pause and consider that.
See … We’ve got it easy.
I’m sure I’ll come back to the melons and lemons in beautifully graphic detail in the next few weeks. Just thinking about it makes me queasy.
Right now however I want to talk about the journey to where I am now: a father to be, two weeks before it happens. If I had to summarize everything I have felt, I would conclude that the main emotions I feel swing randomly between wonderful excitement and sheer terror, and this see-saw of juxtaposing emotions happens maybe 10 times an hour (although last night at 3 a.m. it was more like 100 times). It constantly leaves me either feeling euphoric or out of my depth and desperately in need of some water wings. Has anyone got any I can borrow?
The euphoria makes me see that it’s a miracle that I, an ordinary chap can be involved in something so beautiful and spiritual. My partner looks amazing with it all, and my little boy kicks and wiggles all the time when I talk to him. It truly is something that’s a gift; I’m sure all you dads-to-be know exactly what I’m talking about. And the best part is that I get to share this with my partner, for her euphoria is similar.
The terror, however, is something entirely different. It’s something I cannot share, for even saying it out loud is too terrifying. (My thoughts end up all jumbled, so I’ve written a few for your benefit. They look something like this …)
How will I cope?
My work load is already massive; can I juggle all of that and this?
What if he doesn’t like me?
Will my beautiful relationship crumble because of him coming?
I love my independence; will I completely lose that?
Will I resent him because of it?
And the worst one … What if I am not a good dad?
Miraculously my partner takes it all in stride, almost like an extra part of her brain has engaged that once lay dormant which absorbs all this stuff. I guess that’s all part of the mothering hormones she’s lucky enough to have.
And now in the 14 day countdown this is all getting very real. I may not need the water wings after all—it might be a life boat!