Did my wife really mean it when she said I didn’t have to be present at the birth?
By the time you read this, I will be the proud father of another baby. That is the plan, anyway. My wife has had enough of being pregnant and has booked herself into hospital to be induced. The actual due date is 19 June, but her midwife says it is perfectly acceptable for the baby to come out a week early.
When Caroline informed me of this I was a bit put out. ‘But darling,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a lunch date with an important television executive that day. It could take months to reschedule.’
‘In that case, why don’t you keep it?’ she said. ‘I honestly don’t mind if you’re not there this time.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
I was cock-a-hoop. To be honest, I did not care for being present at the birth of my first three children. I know it is customary these days, but there is still no proper role for expectant fathers in a delivery suite. My wife doesn’t go in for hand holding and, being a grown woman, she does not need to be told when to ‘breathe’. On all three occasions I had the sense of being an interloper at a secret feminine ritual.
Part of the problem is that I simply have no grasp of delivery-room etiquette. For instance, after the birth of our first child I spotted a young black baby in the adjacent bed and suggested to Caroline that I photograph her holding this baby instead of our own. My plan was to email that picture to all our friends. No explanation, just the words: ‘Marcellus was born at 6.15 this morning. He weighs 7lb 15oz.
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