Attending the birth of my child was almost a given, a norm in the Western world where I grew up. And to be clear, I “attended”. I did not really participate, nor was I really present for it.
For perspective, my father wasn’t even allowed in the hospital when I was born. He could only communicate with my mother from the hospital courtyard below her room’s window, catching his first glimpse as my mother presented me through the glass to him—and any other bystanders. Times have changed.
Being present at a birth is truly remarkable. I recommend it for many reasons, and, ideally, for your own child. You’re there to support your partner during one of life’s most critical moments. Whatever they need, you try to make it happen. There’s plenty to keep you busy, physically and emotionally.
But, as the birth approaches, the dynamic shifts. The delivery room becomes a flurry of activity, filling with medical staff in different colored uniforms. I was (politely) corralled into the corner of the room—close enough to see everything, yet strategically placed to minimize any potential interference. I was the least relevant person in the room. And rightly so.
The moment my child was born, the focus shifted momentarily. “Do you want to cut the umbilical cord?” I was asked. This tradition, surprising as it might seem considering my father wasn’t even in the building during my birth, felt like an impromptu invitation to a ribbon-cutting ceremony typically reserved for dignitaries. I chose to remain the least relevant person in the room. “No, thank you.” was my awkward response.
For me, this experience encapsulates the evolving role of modern fatherhood. Once peripheral figures, fathers are now more actively engaged, albeit still often confined within clearly demarcated boundaries.
So, yes, I “attended” the birth of my child. But was I really “present”? In many ways, my mind was everywhere and nowhere, processing the surreal experience. Nor did I truly “participate,” although I was offered a symbolic gesture to do so.
Crib Notes 