Nearly 3 months to the day after I met Tig, I was knocked up higher than a kite. I told him I was late, bought an EPT, and walked in with a VERY big grin and a + that appeared *immediately*. I hugged his neck, said “Hey, you’re gonna be a daddy.” He was NOT thrilled with the news.
His exact words? “Oh SHIT!” followed by all the “I’m not happy” body language. “Well, I guess I can TRY to be a Dad. We’ll see how it goes.”
Not exactly what I wanted to hear. But, I was lost in the haze of pregnancy hormones, glad that he didn’t dump me immediately and disassociate himself when he got the news. And I was THRILLED to be pregnant again. After being with my ex-husband for 4 years and trying (and failing) to conceive, I thought I couldn’t.
I went through the pregnancy alone, for all practical purposes. He was physically there, but wasn’t interested in putting his hands on my belly to feel his son moving. He told me after the birth that he’d wait until I was asleep to do anything. I didn’t believe him.
The pregnancy was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Morning sickness? I had *one* day where I was slightly green around the gills. As he grew inside me, his movements were constant. At the usual office visits I was hooked up to the monitor, and told “click this little button every time you feel movement.” Left alone for 5 minutes, I clicked that little thing for all it’s worth. The CNM walked in, looked at the printout from the chart, and had an aide sit in there with me for another 5 minutes to watch me and the monitor. (Apparently, they thought I was confused and didn’t know what movement felt like.) It was at that time that he started kicking the doppler. The aide watched in amazement as the belt that wasn’t supposed to move slipped and slid down my belly, his kicks recorded for posterity as sound peaks coinciding with my little clicks.
Yes, he’s going to be a handful.
The big day arrived. At 5AM, I felt the familiar tightening of my belly, and woke Tig. “Honey, they want me at the hospital when the contractions are 10 minutes apart, and they are. Saddle up!”
He *wasn’t* happy.
We get to the hospital, do all the “hospital” things that go with birth. “Do I HAVE to be here? I HATE hospitals!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “YES you have to be here. You helped me MAKE this baby, you’re DAMN well gonna be here when he’s born.”
He went and sat in the recliner, trying to find an interesting TV channel.
The time came for me to push Daniel out. Tig sat by my side, but refused to hold my hand because of the IV line in it. After the birth, they put Dan on the warming table to get him wiped down. The “catcher” nurse didn’t realize it, but they hadn’t cut the cord yet–it was long enough to reach.
After they got Dan cleaned up, Tig actually declared an interest in holding his son. His parents came in with Alannah, and she met and bonded with Dan. The next 24 hours were passed in a haze of new baby smells and nursing and cuddling.
Tig wanted his son circumcised, so it was done the next day. It turned out to be a PROFOUND interruption in our bonding. After it was done, Dan didn’t want to be held. Wasn’t particularly interested in nursing, and if you looked at him, you could almost hear him thinking “DUDE do you KNOW what they DID to me??!!??”
The next day, we tried to get things back to normal – and my milk came in. My GOD did my milk come in. The lactation consultant came by, gave us her usual coaching speech and seal of approval, and we went home.
To be continued….
