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Male Bonding
Making Connections With Everyone But Baby-to-be
By Kellie Head
tead of aiding me in the breathing exercises for labor. Minnesota Fats would be proud.
A race to the hospital, for what turned out to be false labor, presented new friend-finding opportunities for Walt. As I lay strapped down to a contraction monitor, Walt made nice with the doctor on call. As luck would have it, they belonged to the same fraternity at their college alma mater. Two grown men performing the sacred Water Buffalo handshake for onlookers took center stage to my sporadic and dwindling contractions. From that point on, whenever I felt the slightest twinge, Walt insisted we run to the hospital "just to be sure."
When the big day arrived, Walt eagerly shuffled me into the car and sped toward the hospital. We arrived in record time. The labor room came equipped with a TV and premium cable channels. It made no difference to me. The contractions closed in at two minutes apart, and I demanded drugs. The anesthesiologist arrived just in time, just in time to add his personal movie review to the Steve Martin flick that had engrossed my husband.
The "Siskel and Ebert" of the delivery floor had completely forgotten about the project at hand – ME! If it hadn't been for the charge nurse, my baby might have popped out onto the floor. Consequently, it was a drug-free delivery.
I suppose men bond in their own way – and with their own kind. Walt is close to our baby girl now that she is here. He religiously takes her to the weekly "Daddy and Me" play group meetings. I understand they have a pool table there.
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