It was 21 years ago today. I was outside the delivery room. No I wasn't waiting for my baby to come out. it was my sister's (Chiquit) second born. As a good brother and soon to be an uncle, I was there for support.
But helping someone go through the process is not as simple as you think. First, can someone explain why most women go into labor at ungodly hours? Maybe it's a way women get even to their husbands who they blame for their 9 months of suffering. e.g. the morning sickness, the craving for weird food, the humiliation of being fat and ultimately the pain of giving birth. I have heard stories about women calling their husband the worse name you can imagine during labor.
Second, the waiting... ah yes the waiting, the pacing, the twiddling. If you had a chance to wait before, you know very well how long this thing takes.The worse part of waiting though is you can't leave (not even a brief bathroom break). It's the rule and you can't break that rule. Why? Because anytime, the doctor will come out the door and there's no one there to deliver the news. This will piss your wife more that you can ever imagine.
Anyway, I finally got the words that she's ready to blow (was it 6 or 7 cm when it's time?). A few more minutes, the door opened and I saw Dr. Villaraza, still wearing her scrubs and mask, looked around and shouted " Who's with Chiquit?". I walked towards her and she said "It's a girl! i mean it's a boy!".
And the rest is history... 21 years ago we called him GalBoy (coined from Girl-Boy). Today he's Kyle and he's 21. I saw him two weeks ago and yes he's a fine young man. He has moved out of her mom's. Although every now and then he would raid her mom's fridge when he has the time between school and work. He looked tired but seems to be enjoying his life.
p.s. 3 years after Kyle was born, I found myself doing an encore. But this time, it was my own baby (Josh) and thanks to my earlier exposure, it was a walk in the park.
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