What to Really Expect When She’s Expecting
The journey to parenthood commences with a moment of bliss as your carnal desires are fulfilled in a naked, sweaty, moaning, and sticky (if you're doing it right) romp. Maybe you forgot protection or maybe you're unsheathed for the sake of procreation. The consequences be damned because you think you know all about pregnant women because you're an uncle or you're someone's godfather. Well, unless you're an the baby delivery biz, you're wrong. You're about to learn that you know fuck all nothing.
Eventually, the happy (or oh shit moment depending on the circumstances) arrives and premommy pees on a stick. That two minute wait for the result is a stomach twisting roller coaster of emotions. If the test comes back positive, your significant other should get comfortable with nausea because she will soon be developing a serious relationship with the toilet. They say saltine crackers or mints help with morning sickness, but that's for her. There is nothing to help you if you are squeamish about vomit, but get used to it because you WILL at some point be holding her hair while she spews exorcistesque levels of vomit. By the way, don't expect a reprieve from the throwing up later in the day because
the term, "Morning Sickness" is complete bullshit. The nausea doesn't care what time it is, so premommy may find herself tossing cookies at all hours of the day and night.
Okay, it's official. Your wife, girlfriend, that one drunken hookup that you accidentally gave your real address to is carrying your cum fruit. Now, the chaos begins. Please note that the changes premommy is experiencing may just be annoying to you, but to her, they are seriously bat guano insane. You will find yourself suddenly holding her during a rerun of "The Office" while she sobs uncontrollably after seeing a Pampers or Hallmark card commercial. Keep in mind, she's just as confused as you are by these hormonal, chaotic emotional outbursts, so cut her some slack. Now they say that pregnant cravings are a myth. Yeah right. During my wife's first pregnancy I found myself regularly breaking multiple traffic laws as I raced to Kentucky Fried Chicken right before they closed because my wife told me she, "MUST HAVE KFC'S INSTANT MASHED POTATOES AND GRAVY!" Oh, I offered to make her real homemade mashed potatoes and gravy because being Irish, I can perform miracles with potatoes as easily as I reproduce. However, THE CRAVING wants what it wants and doesn't give a flippity fuck that The Colonel's closes in less than ten minutes. Eventually, The KFC staff got to know me, my orrder, and reason why I hit the drive thru at eighty miles per hour. I was lucky because the manager wa the grandmotherly type and actually saved me some taters and gravy for these mad dashes for carbs, grease, salt, and what passes for potatoes in some alternate universe.
You've made it to the second trimester and things have mellowed a bit. The morning, noon, and night sickness has eased because premommy's body has accepted its fate. The carrier of your child's hips will also lose a bit of their seductive sway around now, leaving what can only be described as a cute, drunken penguin waddle. Oh, bonus! If you're lucky, you will benefit from a common second trimester change where premommy's libido could goes off the rails wild and she will want sex A LOT. When she's done with you, she will leave you sore, walking funny, and with a huge fucking grin on your face until the beginning of the third trimester. Predaddy also goes through a change. You will become rabid rottweiler protective of premommy. This is especially true when complete strangers want to touch premommy's tummy or when you encounter those dudes who have a thing for pregnant women. You need to control yourself because you don't want premommy to go into labor while you're behind bars guilty of assault on a little old lady who touched your significant other's tummy without permission. If you don't want to be wearing prison blue with bullet proof glass keeping you from holding your newborn, remember, what granny lacked in the understanding of personal boundaries she likely made up for with good intentions.
Fast forward to the beginning of the third trimester and premommy gets the idea of taking childbirth classes. At the childbirth class you find yourself surrounded by couples who say stupid shit like, "It's their pregnancy" or "We won't breastfeed because we want our baby to be vegan." Of course, you really want to slap the stupid out of the dad, but premommy makes you play nice. The instructor will definitely be full of information and you will learn a lot about labor, delivery, and how premommy's fun bits will experience a lot of trauma during delivery. While sitting on the floor propped up by pillows you will also learn about breathing techniques, what to do in an emergency, and listen as the instructor waxes poetic about the wonders of childbirth. Unfortunately, you will also have to sit through a lot of stupid questions. For example, after a brief discussion about mucus plugs (Google it) the other couples will ask question after question about mucus plugs while you're thinking, "It's just a little crotch snot, get over it already!" FINALLY, after six weeks the class is over and there's a, "Graduation "potluck. While nibbling on pasta salad and raw vegetables the wives hug, exchanging phone numbers, and Facebook friend each other. You sit with the other husbands, boyfriends and the shmucks too stupid to either use condom or give a false address after the hookup in a corner thinking, "Thank GOD I don't have to spend another minute with these stupid motherfuckers (soon to be literally) after this." Still, premommy is happy about what she's learned and you get brownie points for making it through light weight torture.
The big day approaches and at the last OB/GYN appointment the doctor explains premommy's pelvis is too narrow for vaginal child birth and a cesarian will be needed to deliver your little bundle of medical bills. A bit stunned you leave the doctor's office with a date for the delivery. Premommy is understandably worried because she's going to be filleted like a rainbow trout instead of having the baby exit through her no-no place. You, you're worried too, but you're also pissed you had to take childbirth classes which are now about as useful as crotchless panties in a convent.
Sadly, I can't tell you much about traditional labor and delivery. Cesarians are very clinical and my wife experienced three of them. So, I can tell you this much. After premommy gets into a surgical gown you have to stand watching as the anesthesiologist pokes A BIG FUCKING NEEDLE into her spine delivering the epidural which will numb her from the waist down. Then when the medication has taken effect you are dressed in surgical wear and led into the operating room. During the procedure you stand by premommy's head and you're allowed to hold her hand. There is a curtain that shields you from seeing the Cesarian procedure, so you have no fucking idea what is going on in premommy's southern hemisphere. Ready to start, the OB says a few words of encouragement and instruction that you don't hear and the cutting commences. Almost immediately you are shocked when you smell burning flesh as the doctor cauterizes small blood vessels severed during the initial incision. This is used to stop the bleeding caused by the cut. Her insides now open to the world, the doctor then plunges his hands into premommy's abdominal cavity. After what seems to be just a minute or two the doctor says something like, "Welcome to the world" as he holds the newborn over the curtain for you both to see.
Your baby is born covered in amniotic gunk, but you don't really notice. You also don't notice that newborns look a lot like a small, naked Winston Churchill. To you the child, is beautiful and the first wail from their lungs is the sweetest song you will ever hear.
After cutting the cord the nurses clean baby up and hands the wee bairn to you. Looking down at this little life you hold you think to yourself, "You know you're an idiot without a clue. Don't fuck this up. Oops I can't swear anymore. Well, except for the commute home from work where I can use profanity with the same passion and precision as a Shakespearian sonnet." Your wee one is then sent to the nursery as the doctor closes up the girl who has now officially graduated from premommy to mommy status.
After a couple days of recovery you and mommy return home. You're both nervous and both unsure of what to do, but you are so in love with that little human you are determined to figure it out and then crush the fuck out of this parenting shit. As with all things new, you will eventually find your stride. Diaper changes, breast pumping, telling relatives to fuck off mommy and baby need their rest becomes reflexive. Finally, on those nights where mommy is exhausted and little one is fussy, you hold that little life against your chest in the darkness inhaling that perfect baby smell. The little one nuzzles in, making adorable little coos and grunts as they drift off to sleep on daddy's chest. As you rock your angel to sleep you realize that if there is a purpose in life, and a reason to deal with all the fuckery the world throws at us, this quiet moment holding your little one as they sleep has got to be it.