23rd July @ 6am – In a very pleasant slumber, my wife starts playing with my feet. I enjoy this. She never does it. Because my feet smell of cheese? Maybe. Because my feet are as ugly as the love child of George Bush and Gordon Brown after a night on the absinthe? Well, they aren’t THAT bad. Just because she knows I like it so won’t do it? Likely but not confirmed.
So why today? Well, about a month ago, I sat in a room and heard the words “Yes, it might happen in films, but it almost never happens without contractions first, and then it is a long time after the contractions start”. This was in reply to a woman saying “What if I am at work or out and my waters break?” while in an antenatal class.
A few minutes of enjoying the foot tickling, I figure I should show my appreciation with a raised head, a smile and tell her I love her. Of course, I was pretty sure at this point I was still asleep and I was going to turn round and see a Sasquatch at the end of the bed dribbling while chewing the remains of my cats tail or something, and I was next. Yes, I really never ever get woken up to my feet being tickled. I get woken up to being shaken, called, shouted at, or on occasion poked in the eye followed shortly afterwards by the words “Stop snoring”. So it must be a dream.
“I think my waters have broken” my wife tells me. A wry smile on her face and creating puddles like Jemima puddleduck living up to her surname. There were no contractions. Of course, we were also told that the start of the contractions would stop and proper labour would start many hours later.
9:45am – A trip to the day unit to confirm the waters have indeed broken. Because they like to check that even though the water behind the hoover damn is laying on the floor now. Maybe because most first time mothers these days are 13 and not 33 and may not know. I am pretty sure we know the difference between a bladder that has given up the ghost and waters breaking. Hell, even a complimentary sniff would answer that one.
We were told the contractions were just “niggles” which will go away and labour will start some point in the next 72 hours. They were spot on about the contractions starting some point in the next 72 hours. They started there and then. Which was very much inside of that 72 hours. The “niggles” therefore; weren’t.
2pm – Wifey is now sat at home in the bath. The “niggles” were less painful in there. So I sat next to her. On the toilet. For 4 hours. And never had to flush once. Yes, my behind was fast asleep. 4 hours on the can is not the most fun a man can have. Sat, with a stopwatch in his hand timing the “niggles”. The “niggles” were never more then 3 minutes apart. And didn’t stop.
6pm – “Lets call the delivery suite” my wife mentions between “oohhh….eeeee….aaaahhhhh” noises that she had been making every couple of minutes for the past hours. So I did. “Hello. Delivery suite. How can I help you” was spoken by the person answering the phone. In a language I did not understand. “Here we go…” I thought. After explaining that we had been to the day unit, she keeps replying back “You want the number for the day unit?” I feel at times like these, that it is important for 2 panicking first time parents to be able to speak to someone who can speak a language that you understand. Apparently not important to them. But finally, they tell us to come in.
9pm – She is back in the bath. I am back sat on the can. Just this time at the hospital. As the loving husband, I kept the water topped up. This was not because I am nice. It was to get blood flow back in my rear which was now snoring it was so asleep. No, it wasn’t wind. It was snoring.
By midnight, the immortal words “It wont happen tonight, so go home” were said to me. Not believing them at all, I went home. Had a bath of my own. Didn’t sit on the toilet at all. Went to work as it was half way between home and the hospital as I was supposed to be working anyway, and knew there would be another call. An hour later I got a phone call, and broke the land speed record in a 1.6L engine. Getting to the hospital, the car looked at me with a “Oh hell do you do owe me one!” look on it’s face as it let out a huge sigh of relief that it was still in one piece.
From there on, there was a lot of swearing, sweating and looks of sheer pain. My wife on the other hand, did amazingly with only a few words not suitable for this blog.
24th July @ 7:01am – 25 hours after my feet were tickled, our daughter was laid on to my wife’s stomach. In the TV show 24, there are ad breaks. They need to rethink this labour thing. Bring it in line with the needs of today.
So for all those that say “Oh, the man has it easy”, I challenge you! It may not be as hard as it is for the woman, but hell…it ain’t easy! DVT from the toilet seat, speeding in the car to be there for your wife and child, fingernails dug in hands, broken bones (or maybe a little fractured), crying like a big girl in front of strangers when your child is born, sat on the toilet for hours on end with the inability to really do anything at all that takes the pain away from your wife/girlfriend.
Tell me again why we have it easy.
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