|Yeah, that's me.|
As it was a television show, they picked the craziest births they could find to document. No one wants to watch boring television. Even births that were probably run of the mill were amped up for entertainment value. It's insane.
In one of the episodes, a woman who has just given birth (for the second time) says something along the lines of "It's a good thing women block out the pain of child birth or they'd never have more than one kid."
Why Nicole would voluntarily watch such shows is beyond me.
Anyway, the cameras are right there when these kids are born. They come out, the cord is cut, and towel is wrapped around them, and they're put in mom's arms. You see these babies as they are when they're first born. This is not the Hollywood version of childbirth.
Here's the thing: these kids are disgusting.
I told Nicole that when she gave birth, she would be overjoyed, that this little, afterbirth covered alien creature will be in her arms and she will have an immediate bond with him. He will be, after all, the culmination of nine months of her life. Just tonight she mentioned how thinking about not being pregnant with him anymore made her a little sad. There's a bond there that transcends the physical, which is interesting, as it stems from the physical.
I told her that she will be bursting with emotion as this baby is put in her arms and I will be by her side, marveling at what has happened, thrilled beyond words at the arrival of my son, proud beyond measure of what my wife has done, and thoroughly disgusted by what has transpired. I told her that, no doubt, a short time later that will disappear and I will be fully on board the happiness train.
She has challenged my idea. She doesn't think it will play out that way at all. She thinks I will be on board
|Found on the Wild Child Granola site|
I think she's grossly underestimating my Midwesterness. Or the relative properness of how I was raised, for that matter.
Newly born babies are gross, objectively speaking. You cannot take a squishy little alien and cover it in human fluids and say, "look, it's beautiful!" No, I'm sorry, that's not the way things work here in the real world, here on Earth, you little alien you.
But when I say that babies are gross, objectively speaking, I mean it. They are objectively gross. But there's nothing really objective about your baby, now is there?
And so I will be at war in the delivery room. While my wife is fighting a real battle in labor, I will be fighting an internal one. I will be fighting the part of me that thinks this kid coming out of my wife is pretty freaking gross. I will be fighting the part of me that is not caught up in the miracle of life, that is not moved by the emotion of the moment. I will be fighting the part of me that finds the entire process unseemly, 1800's style unseemly, when I should be somewhere else and informed of the matter after the fact. And then I will smoke my pipe and toast my brandy and hold my monocle up to my eye as I look the child over.
I will be trying my best not to retreat.
But it's a war I can win. It's a war I can win because I will not be fighting it alone, even though my ally will not be aware of her involvement.
Because I know I will be there for Nicole. I know I will be by her side, doing whatever I can to help her, even if the only thing I can do is be there. I will be in the moment because the moment matters and I know it matters because it's about Nicole. She will keep me there without even trying.
And I will love our son. I will love the moment that we first see him. I will love Nicole holding him for the first time. I will love holding him myself for the first time. I will be completely in love with that moment and with everyone involved in it.
But I know I'm still going to think it's gross.