Ideas
I’ve heard it said more than once that the human race would die out if men were responsible for giving birth.
I was sharing with Nathan my hopes that this baby will come soon and on her own so that I won’t need to be induced. While he also hoped I wouldn’t have to be induced, he was skeptical that I could get through the entire labor without an epidural. This both offended and scared me because he’s supposed to be my main source of support throughout the whole thing.
“I’ve never seen you in pain before,” he said. “I just don’t know what to expect.”
Men and women handle pain very differently. Nathan and I are no exception. I tend to withdraw into myself and prefer solitude when I’m sick while he requires frequent attention and sympathy. Unfortunately for my husband, I’m more like a drill sergeant than a nurse when it comes to making him more comfortable when he’s needy.
I explained that if I do have an epidural it will be my choice to ease my pain, not his, and that I don’t want him by my side urging me to call the anesthesiologist if things get too intense for him. “You’re just going to have to trust me,” I said.
I also reminded him that never having seen me in pain should be a good indicator of how well I’m able to cope. “Remember when I whacked my finger on the ceiling fan when I was working on the baby’s room this summer? That hurt like hell but I sucked it up and moved on.”
I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t buy a word of it. I can’t blame him really. What we’re about to face is a whole lot different than nearly breaking a digit while cleaning. I’ve stubbed my toe and accidentally sliced my flesh while prepping food, but he has never seen me in the kind of pain that’s painful to watch. He’ll feel helpless, but I assured him that I will ask for that epidural if I feel I can’t take it anymore.
I guess we’re getting nervous. We’re nervous about the delivery, about becoming parents and about being able to afford this child. Yesterday Nathan told me he had a dream that my brother was our nanny and living with us. “You know,” he said, “it would save us some money if Sean could take care of the baby while we’re at work.”
My brother is unemployed and living off my grandmother’s good will in my great-grandma’s old house. Nathan figured we could have him move in with us, thus taking him off my grandma’s hands and saving money on day care. While I found the idea amusing, I couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “Sean knows nothing about taking care of children,” I said.
“Neither do we,” said Nathan. “But we’re going to have to learn.”
While I love my brother, I don’t like the idea of him taking care of my child. Right now he divides his time between television and Playstation with occasional trips to my grandma’s house and the blood bank to sell his plasma. “The idea here is to minimize the trauma we inflict upon our child, not add to it,” I said.
We actually ended up visiting Sean at home yesterday. We hadn’t seen him in a few months and were curious to see how he was doing. He and Nathan mostly talked about football while I enjoyed the vibrating recliner in his living room. Nothing was said about being a nanny. Even if we had made him an offer, he wouldn’t have considered it. Living under the same roof again would totally ruin our relationship.
As we stood outside and said our goodbyes, Nathan noticed a rather large, wet box resting against the house next to Sean’s side door. When asked about it, Sean said it was something our uncle, who lived in the house before him, had ordered but never picked up. “If he could care less about it, so could I,” he said.
Once we were back in the car Nathan marveled that Sean wasn’t even curious about what was inside the box and was willing to just let it sit outside and rot like that.
“And this is the person you’d like to watch our daughter?” I asked.
“Um, no,” he said.
I was sharing with Nathan my hopes that this baby will come soon and on her own so that I won’t need to be induced. While he also hoped I wouldn’t have to be induced, he was skeptical that I could get through the entire labor without an epidural. This both offended and scared me because he’s supposed to be my main source of support throughout the whole thing.
“I’ve never seen you in pain before,” he said. “I just don’t know what to expect.”
Men and women handle pain very differently. Nathan and I are no exception. I tend to withdraw into myself and prefer solitude when I’m sick while he requires frequent attention and sympathy. Unfortunately for my husband, I’m more like a drill sergeant than a nurse when it comes to making him more comfortable when he’s needy.
I explained that if I do have an epidural it will be my choice to ease my pain, not his, and that I don’t want him by my side urging me to call the anesthesiologist if things get too intense for him. “You’re just going to have to trust me,” I said.
I also reminded him that never having seen me in pain should be a good indicator of how well I’m able to cope. “Remember when I whacked my finger on the ceiling fan when I was working on the baby’s room this summer? That hurt like hell but I sucked it up and moved on.”
I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t buy a word of it. I can’t blame him really. What we’re about to face is a whole lot different than nearly breaking a digit while cleaning. I’ve stubbed my toe and accidentally sliced my flesh while prepping food, but he has never seen me in the kind of pain that’s painful to watch. He’ll feel helpless, but I assured him that I will ask for that epidural if I feel I can’t take it anymore.
I guess we’re getting nervous. We’re nervous about the delivery, about becoming parents and about being able to afford this child. Yesterday Nathan told me he had a dream that my brother was our nanny and living with us. “You know,” he said, “it would save us some money if Sean could take care of the baby while we’re at work.”
My brother is unemployed and living off my grandmother’s good will in my great-grandma’s old house. Nathan figured we could have him move in with us, thus taking him off my grandma’s hands and saving money on day care. While I found the idea amusing, I couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “Sean knows nothing about taking care of children,” I said.
“Neither do we,” said Nathan. “But we’re going to have to learn.”
While I love my brother, I don’t like the idea of him taking care of my child. Right now he divides his time between television and Playstation with occasional trips to my grandma’s house and the blood bank to sell his plasma. “The idea here is to minimize the trauma we inflict upon our child, not add to it,” I said.
We actually ended up visiting Sean at home yesterday. We hadn’t seen him in a few months and were curious to see how he was doing. He and Nathan mostly talked about football while I enjoyed the vibrating recliner in his living room. Nothing was said about being a nanny. Even if we had made him an offer, he wouldn’t have considered it. Living under the same roof again would totally ruin our relationship.
As we stood outside and said our goodbyes, Nathan noticed a rather large, wet box resting against the house next to Sean’s side door. When asked about it, Sean said it was something our uncle, who lived in the house before him, had ordered but never picked up. “If he could care less about it, so could I,” he said.
Once we were back in the car Nathan marveled that Sean wasn’t even curious about what was inside the box and was willing to just let it sit outside and rot like that.
“And this is the person you’d like to watch our daughter?” I asked.
“Um, no,” he said.
