Part 2
by
Philip Garnes
It’s not every day you go into a room, find the love of your life sprawled out on a bed pretty much naked, with some shiny foreign substance rubbed all over her belly. Oh, and the lights were dimmed to an intimate setting. “What in the name of cou cou and flying fish going on here?”
Welcome back to the chronicles of a dad to be. Now back to this room.
This was a visit to a sonographer’s office, yet another one of the plethora of things related to pregnancies. I was called into the room, told to stand in a specific spot and don’t move, asked if I could see the tiny, gray-scaled coloured monitor and was then blocked by the sonographer for the next two minutes of the ‘presentation’ of our evergrowing baby, before being kicked out. Wow! That was weird. You mean to tell me after sitting in a lobby for what felt like the better part of an average movie’s run time, with who knows what is being done to my wife inside, that I get two minutes of the back of some random person’s head? And then we have to shell out a cool $300? What’s more, the imaging I briefly saw on screen proved to be no different than the one I saw at the obstetrician’s.
Imagine therefore, my confusion and frustration at this experience, feelings which seemingly surface continuously that I must grapple with. I know last time I mentioned my decision to axe attending doctor visits, but this I figured would be different. Wrong again boss!
Let me sincerely apologise for any lack of direction and fluidity this article may present, as this whole pregnancy has kicked into high gear, thus impacting my processing of thoughts and events. But I have to highlight a couple things.
My sister and her husband recently had a baby blessing for their newborn, (hi Ava!), a staple of Bajan tradition. So naturally we were at church, my sister’s party impressively bedecked for the proceedings, and for the most part, the ceremony came off without a hitch. But anyone who is a regular churchgoer knows exactly how church people can be sometimes, and respecting the fact that not all people attend or see church as necessary, let me humbly submit to you that oftentimes these people can be, how shall I say – blissfully intrusive.
Immediately after the entire service ended, and I’m feeling inspired by the Good Book and lustily sung hymns, up comes this buxom congregant in the crispiest of Bajan vernacular bellowing: ‘Wunna next, yuh hear!’ My ‘bull-cow’ face switched on (my wife’s description not mine), so imposing it could be seen clearly through my mask. I instantly retorted, “It’s okay, it’s okay!”, in efforts to discourage any further banter as I was not about it. It worked. Or so I thought. Shortly after, the colourful character captured another member and contested, ‘I wuz tellin’ he dat eva’ting duz’ happen enit time, ya’ know, wen de Lard reddee!’. I could not help but respond a little more sternly than before, “THAT IS NOT WHAT SHE SAID!”
Don’t worry, I’m not about to go on some rant about church people, as I definitely anticipated such, but there really was no need to impose on people’s private lives, and on top of that turn around and tell lies like it’s just Tuesday. But the sheer irony of the entire scenario, was the person was so bent on bounding to say this thing after the service, that they didn’t even realise that my wife was already pregnant and showing! Bless their heart though, as I appropriately employed the virtue of temperance to handle the situation.
Fast forward a few months later, and we had another appointment in the form of a midwife session. Ah, the infamous midwife session, as labelled by my wife and I. This was quite the experience to be sure. First of all, the initial appointment we had was cancelled owing to the fact that the host never showed up, well, at the very least that’s what we concluded, considering we waited for up to 45 minutes to no avail, and this was time we were graciously afforded during working hours by our respective employers. No problem, these things happen I suppose, and in quick fashion we were issued another date for the do.
As karma would dictate, we were the ones turning up late for the rescheduled session (only by ten minutes, relax), but my queen is so cute pregnant that you can’t get mad at her, so tardy or not, she saved us.
The session was going well and proved to be engaging but perhaps a little too one-tracked, as it mostly covered breastfeeding issues. Also, it just so happened that everything the gentle midwife had on the agenda, the obstetrician had already thoroughly covered, and had even given us reading material to boot. I felt like after finally getting this session underway, that it waxed disappointing from an information standpoint. But then it happened. Right when I had thought about tuning out, the midwife asked my wife, ‘Can I see your nipple?’“Umm. .
.what?!”
She then began to demonstrate where the baby’s mouth should be whilst breastfeeding, literally drawing circles on one of my wife’s naked breast with her fingers. Remember this is all new to me, so I certainly did not expect that, and by the expression on my love’s face, clearly jarring to her as well. I have to say one thing though, she should’ve whipped out the other breast as it is definitely the better of the two, but that’s just my opinion.
I trust you’ve gotten a chuckle or two out of this, as I honestly can’t make this stuff up. I’ve begun to realise that a pregnancy in many ways, bears several similarities to that of getting married or being in a relationship. With all due respect it’s a weird and interesting process, one which brings out all kinds of sides in people, crafts many unique stories and lessons to learn. It’s a fun experience but not one for the faint of heart, as the demands will either make or break you, but for those willing to stay the course, I’m positive they will discover a rewarding journey overall.
