It was Father's Day here in Australia yesterday.
When I went in to labour with my first son (unfortunately just after I had awkwardly climbed in to bed that night at about 10pm), I made the HUGE mistake of tapping my sleeping husband on the shoulder to tell him the news. That was it. Hubby was up, dressed, ready and raring to go within minutes. Nothing I said could convince him that - being my first labour - it was probably going to be quite some time before we’d meet our little one, and he should get some rest. But that was it. He was too excited to sleep, so instead he tried to make himself “useful” by having me rate the level of pain of my contractions from 1 to 10. (No, I’m not kidding.) After one contraction he asked, “Ok, what would you rate that one?” Feeling a little exhausted by the game at that point (not to mention the labour) I distractedly replied, “I dunno. A 7?” He said, “No, no, no. The last one you said was a 7, and you seemed to handle that better, so this one was probably an 8. Maybe even a 9. I tell you what…we’ll put it down as an 8.5, ok?”
Had I not immediately gone in to my next contraction at that very moment, I’m quite certain I would have
kicked him responded to that accordingly.
He constantly had me calling the hospital until he got the answer he wanted to hear: “You had better come in.” Once there, we settled ourselves in the birthing suite and let the labour take its course. By late morning the following day, the excitement and adrenalin Hubby had experienced the night before was wearing off. This was evidenced by the fact that even though he insisted on holding my gas mask for me - which was nice - he kept falling asleep and I had to whack him on the leg constantly to wake him so I could take it from him!
As lunch time approached, and I was advised that it would still be “quite some time” before we’d meet our baby, I decided to go the epidural. As I bent over to have it inserted, Hubby’s dislike and unease with needles hit him, and next thing I knew, he was being escorted to the couch to lie down. There he was, surrounded by concerned midwives, and there I was: on my own on the bed watching the events unfold. “Helloooo!” I was tempted to call out. “Lady in labour over here!”
The photo taken the next day of Hubby holding our son, just minutes after he was born, says it all. As my sister said on seeing it, “Oh – I can’t help but laugh. I love this photo. [Hubby] looks like the proudest Dad in the whole world!” It was a sentiment repeated time and time again by those who saw it, and the same look was repeated with the birth of each son. I’m also happy to say, that the smile and pride displayed in that first photo of Hubby as a new Dad, is the same smile he gives his boys every. Single. Day. When he sees them, his face just lights up, and my heart skips a beat.
There are certain celebratory days I don’t get in to, like, Valentine’s Day for example. But Father’s Day is a nice way for the kids to really show their appreciation for their dad. Hubby gets brekky in bed, followed by a showering of homemade and/or school/daycare made cards, and extra hugs and kisses. He’s appreciated every day, but more so on his special day.
How about you? Did you celebrate Father’s Day this year? What did you do? Hope everyone had an awesome one!