Unexpected Pain
This isn’t about the physical pain. Not directly anyway. It’s hard to watch Ms wince and squirm with Critter’s every kick and punch, sure. I wish I could take that away, or some part of it. Share in the experience. Lift the burden. Anything, really.
But I can’t.
It’s a recurring theme, isn’t it? Gestation is exciting! We’re having a baby! It’s magical! But at this point … it’s really not. I’m not growing unexpectedly (much to Ms’ dismay, I appear to be shrinking a bit, which is both good and overdue). I’m not suffering mystifying pains and tweaks and cramps. I’m not dependent on a bizarrely (and hilariously) shaped pillow just to get a little bit of comfort at night. I don’t have something punching me in the bladder. I’m not confronted at every turn by conflicting pregnancy advice. Nobody is finding slots in my calendar to schedule a shower (and, please, don’t).
I mean, I’m not doing nothing. I’m working like I always do, maybe a bit more lately. I clean up animal crap. I try in my limited and unskilled way to do as much as I can around the house. I nuke heating pads. I prepare snacks and try to cook dinner, even if it’s just shells and cheese.
I’m not patting myself on the back here, but I think I’m doing more or less what I’m supposed to be doing.
But here I am wide awake at 1:30 in the morning in a state of something like shock because … I don’t even know how to say it.
A few days ago, we were at the doctor getting an ultrasound. Critter was there, actually looking a bit human (a positive development!). Ms and I had driven separately, because we’d each come from work. After the appointment, she headed back to the office. I headed to a gas station to fill up, and then headed in the same direction she’d gone. I hopped on the Interstate and immediately was caught in horrible, bumper to bumper traffic. Checked the map, and there was an accident several exits ahead.
I texted Ms (don’t worry, I was sitting still): “Fucking traffic.”
Ms didn’t respond. And didn’t respond.
I was suddenly overwhelmed with this horrible, clenching fear that she’d been in the accident. I pulled up a traffic camera (still not moving), and right at the accident was a small patch of pixels in the shape of a car the same color as Ms’ car.
It wasn’t. She called me a minute later to let me know she’d gotten off the Interstate and was headed home because of the traffic. I’d never been so relieved to hear my wife’s irritated voice.
That’s where I am right now. My life is almost mundane. It’s busy. I’m doing all the stuff I’m supposed to be doing, but there’s nothing particularly extraordinary about it. And Ms … she’s doing all the things she’s supposed to be doing, a few more things she wants to be doing, and ohbytheway growing a baby, with all the stress and pain that involves.
And I’m on conference calls.
Intellectually I know that’s ok. I’m not the one with the plumbing to grow a baby. There’s no physical way for me to share the hardest part of this process. She’s built for it. Her body is the end result of billions of years of evolution to create this bizarre, inconvenient way of making more of us.
But emotionally? I’m like a balloon with a pin pushing ever so gently on the skin. A dozen pins. Growing a baby, from my location on the outside, is a fear roller coaster. She comes home after a 16-hour day, I put my hand on her belly, and when I feel Critter kick I’m … so … relieved. And then Ms winces from the kick, and it’s right back to the fear. Is everything ok? Is something wrong with the baby? Is something wrong with my wife? Quick, google “baby kick pain second trimester.”
I don’t know if I’m weird. Maybe other dads are like “la la la, whatever.” I can’t imagine they are, but maybe. The dads I talk to certainly say all this is normal.
But it sucks. I want this to be over so I can take the baby, feed him, and let Ms get some uninterrupted, blissful rest.
You are indeed a good man Mr. Forty.