Waiting!

I know what is supposed to happen. I read some books. I asked my mom, my sisters, and some friends about pregnancy, birthing, and where I fit into that mix. I am a biology teacher for crying out loud. I got the science of the whole thing down. I know what hormones are supposed to get released at what time during labor. I can diagram how the baby usually moves down the birth canal. I can describe how the contractions prepare the uterus for delivery. I understand pretty well how the different interventions disrupt the miraculous natural flow and begin a cascade effect to a more medicalized birth. I also know that if used appropriately and conscientiously, interventions are life-saving discoveries of modern medicine. I even witnessed a home-birth while living in Utah. I know a lot. I feel confident, though I can't grasp this so common unknown: becoming a parent.

Intellectually, I got it. Everything else is a complete mystery, and I loved it. I look in delight at my beautiful wife as she takes her long walks, struggles to turn from side to side during the night, pauses to smile at me, or transforms from her big belly nightgown garb into a stunning outfit upon leaving the house. I am in awe of how seamless this 9 month transition is toward her becoming a mother. She is anxious and ready. Her body somehow knows what to do.

I am the intimate, expecting bystander; a third-party advocate clearing a path and hoping to make her as secure and comfortable in their process. This dance that has been happening for millenniums. I can not feel the movement of baby inside her womb or her aches as he moves to find comfort. She regularly talks with baby because they already know each other; they have grown together. I am anxiously waiting to meet him, to see him, for him to become tangible. I want to feel whatever that feeling is when parents say, "We have a baby."