Don't do it just because that's what you do

A recent study compiled by three leading British universities, has suggested that the presence of a woman’s partner during childbirth may be, at best, of very little comfort and, at worst, actually increase pain levels.

 

Reassuring on so many levels. No, really! Finally, something has been produced that accurately describes my experience of labour.

My partner is many things. He is warm-hearted, he is hilarious and he makes the nicest toasted sandwich you’ll ever taste, but comforting in times of crisis, he is not. Having seen him fuss over a flat tire, panic over delayed post and positively melt down over...well, nothing, I should have known that having him accompany me to the birthing room was asking for trouble. But it’s just the thing you do, isn’t it?

And then I went into labour. He was perspiring gently in the car, he was sweating profusely in the hospital hallways and he was hyperventilating completely by the time my feet hit the stirrups. I remember staring at him the way you might a bag of groceries when you realise the key item - the sole reason you trekked to the supermarket for in the first place - is sitting back on the check-out conveyor belt. Utter disbelief and complete disappointment.

You know the person who always says the things you want to say, but don’t because manners dictate? Well, my midwife was one of those women.

While I gritted my teeth in irritation at his waxy-looking face, my midwife shook her head in exasperation as he slowly grew more unsteady on his feet and 'joked' that he might be more comfortable at home.

When my eyes felt like they were going to burst out of my face with the effort of delivering our little girl, my partner quietly hiccupped with stress. (Yeah, I know. He gets stress-induced hiccups.)

And when I decided to take a vow of celibacy from that moment on, my partner requested a glass of water…for himself.

So far, so Hollywood, right?

But the thing about the movies is that while the dad is carrying-on at the side of the bed, the expectant mother is able to continue pushing, focusing solely on herself and her baby, but I couldn’t do that.

I had to be told to stop asking him if he was OK and focus on my breathing.

I had to be assured that his stress-induced hiccups weren’t a cause for concern and to pay attention to my own body for the sake of my baby.

I felt my stress levels heighten, my pain increase and my desire to live the rest of my life as a nun intensify with every stifled hiccup.

He was, to all intents and purposes, completely and utterly useless to me in there. He was essentially me during my first driving test; at best, a total waste of space and at worst, a complete liability.

I understand that seeing your partner push another human into the world is traumatic, stressful and life-changing, but really, if you can’t stand the heat, stay at home, watch Masterchef and let us get down to it.

Let me be clear here, I don’t blame my partner for his reaction nor do I judge him for his response (much). Know who I do blame? Myself.

I knew what he was like, I anticipated his less-than-helpful presence and what did I do? I still went ahead and decided he’d be in the room with me. Because that’s what you do.

Here’s the thing, while many will argue that the father has every right to be there, I would, if a woman’s partner is prone to bouts of stress-induced hiccups, politely disagree.

Since it’s us women who are doing all the hard work, experiencing sensations we never thought possible and basically sacrificing our bodies to our unborn child for however long it might take, aren’t we entitled to a stress-free environment?

We’re not denying our partner the chance to witness the event for a petty or superficial reason, far from it. We’re actually trying to ensure that we give ourselves the best possible opportunity to experience a calm, safe labour. Shouldn’t that be the main goal?

And before you ask, no he didn’t faint.

He was bad, but he wasn’t that much of a cliché.