Women always say that until men give birth, they have no right to complain about any sort of pain. Been kicked in the nuts? Come and cry on my shoulder when you have to squeeze a watermelon out your backside. Lost a hand? That’s nothing, you should try giving birth.
Well, firstly, backsides aren’t designed for that kind of thing, vaginas are. Secondly, get kicked in the nuts and you don’t have all sorts of hormones and endorphins and who knows what else already hanging around ready to help.
But most of women say how wonderful being pregnant is. Creating a new life. The hormones. The attention. The high ground.
So, isn’t the pain the price you pay for all the rest?
Having said that (and invited the ire of womenfolk everywhere), I just watched my wife go through childbirth for the third time and it isn’t something I can imagine, or want to imagine, and my respect and love for her knows no bounds.
The first time wasn’t great for her– there were complications. But she went back again. The second time wasn’t great either– there were other complications. But she went back again. And the third time… things all went pretty well, really.
It went well? From all accounts, it still hurt like hell.
And it isn’t just the childbirth. Kel hates being pregnant. The things she can’t eat. The things she can’t do. The sore back. The sore feet. The lack of sleep. The games she can’t play with our other kids. The weight. The can’t get up. The can’t crouch down. She hates being pregnant.
She hated it the first time. But she went back. Twice.
The things my wife has done for our family, for me, for love, is astounding. I can’t thank her enough for our three amazing kids and for a thousand other ways she makes my life better every day without even knowing. But this is my attempt.
Thank you, Kel. I love you.
And, welcome to the world, Kace. You have a great mum.