During Labor, Why Doesn't Anyone Offer the Dad Drugs?

Yay! It's Guest Blogger, aka Doug Adkins, aka my husband.

During their first pregnancy many dads are convinced that they'll be able to give birth naturally, without any drugs or other pain-killing nectar from the pharmaceutical gods. Ah, to be naive and clueless again. Let me tell you, by the time you're dilated to a four you'll be screaming for someone to stab a needle full of heroin directly into your heart. And you'll be cursing your wife for tricking your sperm into colliding with her ovary.

I know, I know, dads aren't actually the ones who are having the contractions or trying to pass the musk melons through their urethras, but that doesn't mean we don't have to deal with plenty of our own pain during the delivery. For starters, let's not forget that when your wife is suffering through those contractions she's also crushing all the bones in your hand into a fine powder. Women complain about how giving birth forever changes their bodies but each hand-pulping labor has further eroded my Ms. Pac-Man skills. Then there's the "sleeper" sofa found in all delivery rooms. These devices are cleverly designed to drum up more business for their spinal surgeons. And what about catching glimpses of old people in those backless hospital gowns? Does the sight of those sad, sagging raising not permanently scar the psyche? Do those images ever fade?

But the greatest pain of all is simply having to stand by helplessly while your wife suffers, unable to do anything to help her, utterly powerless in every way. Were it possible, I would, in a heartbeat, change places with her and give birth to the baby myself.

Wait, what were the choices again? Oh, no, sorry, I was confused; I prefer standing by helplessly. Chivalry may not be dead but I did beat the hell out of it with a croquet mallet and leave it to bleed to death in a shallow grave.

But before you judge me a wuss, I would inform you of a medical fact: Every human being is born hard-wired with a different sensitivity to pain. So when some people get stung by a bee, for example, they think, "Ouch, I've been stung by a bee" while other, more pain-sensitive people like me think that the bee is a javelin that was heated to 1000 degrees and thrown by an Olympic decathlete from four feet away. Again, this is a medical fact that has been proven by medical people who prove such things. On a pain scale of 1 to 10 my pain goes to 11 while Jody's goes to 1.4. It's true: Jody could accidentally blend her hand while making a margarita and she'd just pick out the fingers and keep right on drinking. I, on the other hand, was once so debilitated by a small hemorrhoid that Jody started looking into hospices. And now that you know the medical facts about pain you understand that my struggle to overcome the hemorrhoid is one of bravery, if not heroism. Also you'll forgive me for not wanting to give birth to any children.

Many dads share my pain disability, so I advise you to play it safe and dispense with the "all-natural childbirth" crap and go ahead and take all the latest pain-killing drugs that are available. These won't be offered to you, of course, but it's pretty easy to steal them -- you're in a hospital, after all. Just don't take too many of those large blue hexagonal pills -- at least not with scotch. Everything will start to look like a Rush concert and you'll think your baby is Ed Asner.