These days it is the norm for the husband to be in the delivery room when his child is being born. Of course, it was not always thus. Once upon a time the man waited in a separate room for the big announcement, and then handed out cigars. Or at least so I am led to believe by 1950s sitcoms.
I have no children, so I am really not qualified to discuss this topic, but the idea of the husband being in the delivery room just seems like an odd thing to me, and a little uncomfortable. I guess I have hangups, but my own feeling is that a woman’s sexual mystique is important, and frankly, it seems to me that watching my wife push a baby out of her vagina might tend to undermine that mystique.
But again, I am inexperienced and likely unwise in these matters. Please share your experiences. First, though, please respond, honestly, to the poll. I want to keep the poll pretty simple: good idea/bad idea. I will break it down by gender, though, to see if there are any differences in perception.
Side question: When, exactly, did the husband in the delivery room become the norm? 1970s, maybe? Those with experience, please help me answer that question.
Oh, I am not an idiot. Well, I am an idiot, but not that big an idiot. I would keep my reservations to myself and go along with whatever my wife wanted.
Actually, that’s what made me think of this poll. I’m wondering if all the husbands who are going into the delivery room these days are really on board with the idea, or if they are just going along with it because it’s expected of them.
The husband in the delivery room can be a huge support both emotionally and physically. I’d have been crushed if MrPanda chose not to be in the room while I was in labor.
As far as the whole mystical vagina thing … you’ll get over it.
Just as an FYI (and for that matter, TMI), my husband was with me for the deliveries of both our kids, and has yet to actually see me push the baby out. You don’t have to look at it if you don’t want to…just stay up by her head.
I don’t have children, so this is based solely on speculation, but if and when I do have children, I’d prefer to have someone in the room who has already done it. I’d find it a real comfort to have my mother there. Possibly because she’s the right mix of gentle and encouraging, yet assertive and pushy. Also she knows some good swears.
I’m pregnant right now, and my thought is that if I’m going to watch everything I eat and do for nine months, deal with the midnight peeing, weight gain, skin changes, stretch marks, and constant freaking doctor’s appointments, the LEAST he can do is be there for moral support when I actually pop out the baby.
Plus, my parents aren’t close enough for me to absolutely count on my mother being there, and I need an advocate who knows, in excruciating detail, what stuff I am and am not okay with.
You don’t get to be along for the fun part and then abandon your wife when things get rough. Yeesh. It’s not like she has a choice about being there or not, you know? Deliveries can be absolutely dreadful – painful, scary, confusing, overwhelming. Your wife needs someone there who is on her side and won’t put his squeamishness above her very real needs.
Sexual mystique … purses lips in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the sneer
I was born in 1950 in the Netherlands and my father fortunately witnessed my birth. It has often been said that when they pointed out his son later on in the nursery he was able to correct the staff by claiming that that kid was not his son. It was a source of concern to me, because all my subsequent sibling were blonde and I was much darker. It wasn’t until; my younger brother’s buck teeth kicked in that I was reassured.
My father was not allowed to witness the birth of my siblings in Canada during the 50s and early 60s. He thought that was absolutely ridiculous, especially when my mother died in childbirth.
I witnessed my eldest daughter’s birth. The second was a c-section with a curtain drawn between me and my wife’s abdomen while doctors were sewing my wife up and discussing golf. Talk about bedside manner.
Sexual Mystique ? Trust me, you’ll have no trouble separating the role of a vagina in birth with the role of a vagina in sexual pleasure.
If your wife ever become’s pregnant, public health services become available to teach you how to support your wife in labour.
Honestly I didn’t give a shit about my sexual mystique - I just wanted hubby there to support me. He did not want to be there and kept threatening to pass out. He made it through fine, including being in the OP when they did the emergency C-Section (they hang a drape so you can’t actually see the cutting part).
Personally, I’m okay with his being there or not, but my husband wouldn’t have missed his daughter’s birth for the world. It helps that I had a quick and uncomplicated delivery, and that he’s not squeamish, plus he’d have needed sedation if he’d been banished to a waiting room not knowing what was going on. And believe me, the mystique wasn’t destroyed!
Also, I should have mentioned that he wants to be there, too. For me, it seems like being stuck in a waiting room, not knowing what’s going on, would be way more stressful than being along for the ride.
What I mean when I say “mystique” boils down to “ability to see wife’s vagina as a sexy place.” (Hey, I was trying to be polite about it.)
But you seriously don’t see how watching a baby…and afterbirth…come out of a vagina might alter a man’s perception of it? Seems like that visual might pop up at inopportune times.
But again, I am uninitiated in the whole childbirth thing, so…
I was there with secret misgivings, but it turned out to be the right thing to do. First, I could amuse my wife during the boring parts. Second, it gave her the chance to squeeze the shit out of my hand and also order me to write down the precise time of every contraction when things got a bit hairy. And finally, it was pretty cool to see the end result.
Ditto to the above poster who said that if you’re witnessing the whole pregnancy and the after-effects of it, there won’t be much delicate mystique left to worry about.
If I’d had any pride left after my c-section, the two-day hospital recovery afterward would have been excruciatingly embarrassing. My husband was there for the monumental post-surgery passing of gas, emptying of my catheter’s container, removal of the catheter, shower in which the surgical dressing was peeled off millimeter by millimeter, changing of pads for the lochia, and the no-doubt uninspiring sight of my mesh-panty-encased ass peeking out from my hospital gown as I announced to the two nurses trying to help me walk that I probably weighed more than both of them put together.
Honestly, I think the whole thing was harder for him than for me.
Think about how your wife feels! She’s gotta be all sexy with those bits later on when she’s passed something the diameter of a grapefruit through there. Plus her perception of what happens when she lets you get close to her might be skewed…
Stand up by her head, claim squeamishness about anything related to lots of blood and pain + her, close your eyes for the actual popping-out part, hold her hand.
Are you kidding? Watching a human being pry its way out of a woman’s vagina ruined the mystique for me. I decided I would never have a baby claw its way from my crotch the day I saw that “Miracle of Life” video they make everyone watch in seventh grade. Yeah, no, I’m not doing that.
