MenGetPregnantToo

Why Am I The Problem Because I Hate Being Late?

I don't like the term anal.
Thesaurus.com suggests "perfectionist" and "precisionist" as alternatives.  But, those who know me would never describe me as a perfectionist; anyone who has witness the results of my DIY projects would never suggest I was precise.
I do try to insist on punctuality, however. Since fatherhood has been added to my list of responsibilities, I have even less time to waste waiting for others.
Unless there was an unforeseen, unavoidable circumstance, it is rude to keep anyone waiting for more than 15 minutes. Even a ten minute delay is rude if it's habitual.
To avoid forcing people to wait for me, I use what is referred to in live television production as "backtiming". This technique involves recognizing the absolute "out" time for your show (for instance: 7pm for a one-hour show beginning at 6pm), and calculating what time each item in the telecast must begin in order to not run past your deadline.
An example of how this would be put into practice in everyday life: 

Situation: You and your family are invited to a 6 o'clock supper at a friend's house; the friend lives 20 minutes away.

Here's how a ('ahem') perfectionist/precisionist would arrange to be there on time:

•  5:30pm - You should all be in the car. This means seat belts on, with the vehicle in motion towards the end of the driveway. This does not mean in the car, with one person still having to pee and another looking for sunglasses.
• 4:30 - All other household activities should be slowed and then abandoned allowing enough time for a shower (if necessary) a tidying of toys, and a change into fresh clothes, etc. This is not the time to start one more half-hour episode of "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego", or to make a 'quick' call to your mom, or to quickly begin your last finger-painting project.
• 3:30 - This is the perfect opportunity to let the kids know they have an hour of free time before they have to start getting ready. When they continue goofing around and arguing with each other, remind them they are only losing time from their one hour they have before they need to start getting ready.

You get the idea.

Down the Rabbit Hole by loushe

I tend to "We should go!" people a lot.
The response I often get is: "Relax. No one will mind if we're a few minutes late."
This happens when I meet friends before we leave together to go meet other friends. This happens when I pick people up, or when I am myself being picked up. Inevitably, my impatience earns me the labels "precisionist" and "impatient"(I'm afraid I'll have to return to 'anal'. It is too apt).
Why is that?
Why am I the problem because I enjoy punctuality?
Didn't Jesus or Confucius say "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you?" They must have been punctual men, since no one likes to be kept waiting. 

Why does no one like to be kept waiting? Because they organized their day is such a fashion as to be ready to receive you. Your friend had their house ready for the dinner party at 6pm; the restaurant had your table ready for 7:30; your friend has been waiting by the front door for fifteen minutes when they surely had better things to do. Better things to do than wait for the chronically tardy.

As a working professional, a parent, a homeowner, and a human being, my day is busy enough without someone else's tardiness built in. I like my vestibule, but I don't consider it a tourist destination I need to admire for more than a couple of minutes while I stare out the front door.

I believe you cannot change people. I'll always have to wait on those same late-comers.
It's my labelling I object to.
Anal. Precisionist. Perfectionist. Antsy. Impatient.
Why am I the problem because I like being on time? 
Call me anything; just don't call me late for supper. 

No, Men Don't Get Pregnant, Too. But Some of the Symptoms Are There.

Men Get Pregnant, Too.

Of course, during gestation, there are certain symptoms familiar to expectant mothers which men will never experience:

• Drastic hormonal changes.
• A growing human being within a uterus slowly shoving internal organs into the four corners of the abdomen.
• Physical discomfort, swelling, and decreased mobility caused by dozens of extra pounds of fluid and fetus.
• The excruciating expansion of the birth canal and surrounding muscle structure as it opens a pathway for the delivery of an infant.

 We will never push a watermelon though a pigeonhole.

We acknowledge this without being told. Despite that acknowledgement – and tacit truism – we are nonetheless constantly reminded of our physical and biological shortcomings.

We are reminded of it when we complain of fatigue during the onset of pneumonia; or when we wince at the pain of a sprained limb; or after we nap an afternoon away while battling a headache.
The reminders of our inability to bear children surface most often, and most poignantly, when, as expectant fathers, we attempt to share our own emotional worries and physical discomforts.

During my wife’s pregnancies - especially her first – outlets though which I could freely express emotional insecurity, self-doubt, and stress-induced physical discomfort were few.
Internally, I questioned constantly my right and ability to become a nurturing, capable father. I at times felt stress and imbalance as I struggled to find my own place as an expectant parent alongside my wife, who had the benefit of physically carrying the child. I mostly stayed silent when phantom symptoms such as nausea, headaches, and muscle pain crept though my body – mysteriously
moments after my wife complained of similar ailments.

I was nervous about wrestling with fatigue through a full-time work schedule; night feedings; and being emotionally available, positive, and supportive of my spouse. 

Ironically, this mother-to-be, who had the greatest cause to wish I’d shut up, was my most
dependable and understanding supporter. It was other motherswho scorned: “Yeah? Try pushing a
watermelon through a pigeon hole”.

 It was an attack for which there was no defense; nor will there ever be. 

Father and Son by Benjamin Gettinger

The irony is, those “watermelon” statements only encourage shame in a man, which, in turn, discourages communication from a husband-to-be attempting to be an organic part of the pregnancy, birthing, and parenting process. 

Physical and emotional pain is not a zero-sum game.
A dad-in-waiting’s aches, pains, and worries need not come at the expense of a pregnant woman’s discomfort; nor are they intended to.

Women’s “watermelon” attacks are almost exclusively directed at men. When a childless woman complains of her chest cold, she is never told by a mother: “Oh, yeah? Try having a baby.”

Why? Because the statement is inherently cruel and unfair; and perhaps also because women are better adapted to emotionally defend themselves to other women. The backlash of such a statement directed at a childless girlfriend would be too severe: most likely resulting with at least a temporary halt to the friendship. As for men; we merely chuckle in response, and clam up.

Perhaps men need to better develop a language for their emotional defense, as well as insist upon understanding, acknowledgement, and acceptance of their weaknesses.
But, to do that, we need to feel safe while expressing vulnerability. The “watermelon” attack negates that.
It’s a new ‘chicken and the egg’ scenario. Only this time; it’s a baby in a womb.

 

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The Lottery of Loss by Alexis Marie Chute

Dear Readers,

As a member of the "Parent Bloggers" community, I am part of a large group which exists primarily to publicly share the joys of parenthood.
As all mothers and fathers are aware, parenting can also bring great sorrow. It is these saddest stories which often remain hidden, leaving the parents alone to heal. Please welcome one writer and artist who is developing an avenue through which others can share their stories.

****

My name is Alexis Marie Chute and I am very thankful to be a guest blogger on Men Get Pregnant Too.

There are a few times in life where you want to be the statistic. It would be great to be that one person in 175 million to win the Powerball jackpot for example. Or be added to the Dean’s List like roughly 36% of brainiacs completing their undergrad degrees. Or even be the 50/50 winner at a sporting event. Yet there are other statistics, the terrifying ones, which cause us to hit the gym, put helmets on our children and hide our credit card numbers at the bank machine.

For most, statistics remain distant inconsequential digits that have no bearing on daily life. That was the case for me - until 2010. I wish I could say I won the lottery...

In September 2010 I was 25 weeks pregnant with my second child, Zachary. A routine ultrasound began a downhill discovery; Zach was diagnosed with a genetic abnormality so rare that it affects less than 0.01% of people in the US. While my round stomach lurched back and forth, my son kicking me playfully in the ribs, doctors told my husband and me that our child would not live.

Most people don’t die from this genetic trait, yet it caused a large tumor to grow around Zachary’s heart that glowed white in ultrasound images. It was this tumor that took his life. At 30 weeks gestation, Zach was born and just moments after died in my arms. He did not cry or open his eyes. He moved slowly and then stopped. We took photographs. Said goodbye.  

 

Chute Family Photo by S Butts for Edmonton Journal (Copyright Alexis Marie Chute)

 

“Random,” the genetics councilor told us after 9 months of genetic testing following Zach’s memorial. It was then that I realized that I joined the many others who have lost a child either through miscarriage, stillbirth, early infant loss, SIDS or any of the other unimaginable ways a child can be torn from this life much too soon.

It wasn’t until I became the statistic that I learned how many people are with me in this sorrow. Where I live in Alberta Canada, 15,000 babies die each year.  The American Pregnancy Association states that nearly ¼ pregnancies will end in miscarriage. There are too many stats to list. These statistics are not taught in sex ed or in high school biology; they are not talked about (enough) from mothers to daughters, from grandmothers to granddaughters, from doctors to eager parents.

After Zachary died I entered what I call my “Year of Distraction.” I attempted to busy myself so I would not have time to face my life which seemed encased in a twilight zone of inescapable grief. Then I got pregnant. This was the most glorious, exciting and wonderful news in the world – but it brought with it fear and anxiety.

That is when I realized that I must face my mourning head on. As a professional visual artist and writer, I returned to my work after putting my passions aside during my “Year of Distraction.” I began to write about my journey to let go of one child while my stomach grew with another. This writing has become my memoir called “Expecting Sunshine” which is in the editing stage pre-publication.

I began to paint again and experimented with wood sculpture as a way to express the inexpressible parts of my pain. It worked. Somehow, I pulled myself from the depths of depression to a place of (still slightly reluctant) acceptance. I found a new flavor of happiness – and just in time for my next child’s birth.  

I now write a blog called “Wanted, Chosen, Planned” where I openly talk about life after the loss of a child. The journey is rough no matter what stage of pregnancy (or afterwards) the child has died. It is the worst heartbreak in the world and sadly, thanks to knowledge of stats, we who mourn can know that we are not alone. No one needs to feel isolated in their sorrow; we are stronger together. My mission is to break the taboo of silence around child loss and encourage others on this journey.

Thank you for reading. Much thanks to Kenny for the opportunity to share my story.
If you want to connect, email me at [email protected] and
please visit my blog www.WantedChosenPlanned.com

-         
Alexis Marie Chute

 

Alexis Marie Chute

 

 

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