It is my honor and pleasure to introduce the first guest poster of the baby fever series: the one, the only, Jason Wiking. You might know him better as my other half, the one who builds cool things, and looks super cute in photos. What you might not know is that he is actually the writer in the family. Seriously, I hate signing cards with this guy, he out-writes me every time! Today he's sharing some advice for birth partners, some great tips and a mantra that he wished someone had told him before we plunged head first into bringing Jude into the world. I struggle to read this post without welling up. I see just how much responsibility he has assumed and I am so so grateful for his support. I'm in such good hands, and it won't be too long now, let's do this thing!
As the due date for my second son approaches at astronomical speed, my beautiful wife and I are scrambling gleefully to dust off our endless arsenal of baby paraphernalia: bottles, strollers, swings, tiny chairs, tiny furniture, and a 12 piece giant car seat for tiny babies! (clip, clamp, string, pull, clasp, snap...wait...what's this strap for?) And as we find room in our house and home for all of these things and more, it's easy to get caught up in the memories of our first son and forget about the actual logistics of physically having another baby (ahhhhh, remember his tiny neck and fat wrinkles...NO! Too much cuteness! Must focus!)
Photo by Meg Messina Photography
I know now that birth is an exciting and joyous journey, but is also a nervewracking and vertigo inducing whirlwind of nurses (Wait..who are you? Where's the other one?), machines (what is that for?..whatever, just keep it away from us), and 539,298 brochures (I counted) of things you need to do or are doing wrong or not doing sometimes or be sure to do this thing with your baby if you want a Harvard baby or maybe if you want a high school drop out baby that's fine whatever. It can be utter madness, which is why I will share something as a father to other fathers (or partners, or family members, or whoever is right there holding the hand but not actually having the baby) that I wish someone would have told me:
Keep Calm and Rock On
You are not the one giving birth, but you are the rock in the storm, the hand to squeeze and crush when the pain is too much, the last and sometimes only line of defense between this beautiful woman giving birth and everyone else in the world.
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