Childbirth: Men vs Women

With the birth of our sixth child (Truett) and with many hours spent on the vinyl-covered concrete seat/bed/couch in the hospital cubical (I mean room), I had ample time to ponder the rather large contrast between men and women when it comes to childbirth. Here are just a few I find to be true.

When the baby first breaches the canal during labor:

The woman thinks, ‘Pull it out! I can’t push any longer.’

The man thinks, ‘Thank you, my Sweet Jesus for making me a man!’

When the nurse places the child on the mother’s stomach:

The woman thinks, ‘Does he have all his toes and fingers?’ Immediately, the mother starts unwrapping the baby and checking.

The man thinks, ‘What is he going to be when he grows up? What type of man will he become? Who will he marry? I hope he marries someone with money.’

When the mother changes the first diaper:

The woman thinks, ‘Look at how cute and tiny that diaper is.’

The man thinks, ‘I hope the size of the diaper is not relational to the cost of the diaper.’

When the mother first nurses:

The woman thinks, ‘It is amazing how God designed me to provide for this child.’

The man thinks, ‘This is just weird.’

When the baby cries at 2am on the first night:

The woman thinks, ‘I should check on the baby.’

The man thinks, ‘I wish she would check on the baby.’

When the hospital photographers are listing the options of each picture package:

The woman thinks, ‘These pictures are priceless.’

The man thinks, ‘These pictures are pricey. I have a camera on my phone.’

When the birth certificate needs to be filled out:

The woman thinks, ‘We have to decide on his middle name.’

The man thinks, ‘Middle names are so overrated.’

When it’s time to leave the hospital:

The woman thinks, ‘What is the baby going to wear home?’

The man thinks, ‘How do these car-seat straps buckle? I wish I had brought the duct-tape!’

When the new family finally arrives home:

The woman thinks, ‘I can't wait to get into my own bed.’

And the man thinks, ‘I wonder what she is going to cook for dinner. I’m starving.’