Back in 2004, while attending the University of Wisconsin-Waukesha, I remember my newspaper adviser warning me about the journalism business.
“If you want to work in sports, forget about seeing your wife and kids,” he said with a very serious face.
At the time, I was a sports editor for my college paper, and I thought I knew it all. Sports was my passion, and I knew I was a good writer. I was so young and naïve, I thought life would be easy and everything would turn out perfect. I thought to myself, “What does this old guy know?”
The adviser had covered the Denver Broncos at one point in his career and was constantly on the road.
By the time I became a full-time journalist in 2008, I began to see what he was talking about. Late Friday nights during football and basketball seasons, sometimes weekend work and long trips for state tournaments.
So far, these things have only affected the time I spend with my wife. I love her dearly, and we’ve been married nearly three years, but she understands work obligations, and she works full-time as well.
Her first-shift schedule and early-bird mentality meshes nicely with my night owl, second-shift tendencies.
I’d rather work until 2 a.m. and cover an exciting game on deadline than limit myself to an early shift and leave out the most recent information.
It’s just the nature of the beast. Sports happen at night, and if there are playoff games, like home games for Burlington and Catholic Central on the same night, sacrifices must be made at a small newspaper.
My adviser’s theory will be put to the ultimate test in about three months. My wife and I are expecting our first baby, due May 19, and it just so happens to be around spring sports playoff time.
OK, I’m not some terrible father, and I will be taking some time off from work, but nights like Tuesday are a breeze compared to what work could be after parenthood.
It’s finally starting to kick in that I’m going to be a father. The last ultrasound we saw looked like an actual human, and my wife is starting to look like a pregnant woman, albeit a very attractive one.
Excitement, fear, anxiety, happiness and worry are all emotions that pop in and out of my brain regarding parenthood. And it’s starting to become even more real.
My wife talked me into taking a birthing class every Saturday morning in Milwaukee. I would have probably accepted a standard class much closer, but this particular one is at a comprehensive birthing center that goes beyond breathing.
So, let me get this straight. I have to work late Friday nights covering games and then wake up at 9 a.m. on a Saturday to drive to a birthing class? Even though it’s high school tournament time, and many events occur on Saturday afternoons?
I had my doubts, but after three classes, I’m really starting to love it.
Along with five other couples, roughly our same age, we learn about the intricacies of pregnancy and what we can expect at birth.
We haven’t gotten to breathing yet, but some of the activities have been a hoot, to say the least.
At the very first class, a two and a half-hour marathon by the way, we had to prioritize what we thought about labor with our partners.
While all five of the other couples put the safety of the mother and the baby first, we chose “being a good parent” as our top priority. I guess we just assume nothing will go wrong at the hospital.
Also, we learned the stages of labor, including early and active labor. We are encouraged to stay at our house as long as possible before trekking to Elkhorn for the birth.
A key sign to notice is if Erin, my wife, loses her sense of humor. That means get in the car and hurry to the hospital. I can’t wait for that. I envision baby movies where the wife squeezes the husband’s hand so hard, he loses circulation. I’m prepared for that.
Although the class goes from 10:30 a.m. to 1 p.m., there is a break halfway through. Every week, a couple volunteers to bring snacks for the group.
There has been everything from raw veggies to kringle to juice boxes to cupcakes. On the week when we had vegetables, we just so happened to be discussing the importance of the mother’s nutrition during pregnancy.
Of course, Erin ate the cupcakes, and I had the veggies.
Then, last Saturday, the mothers had to track their nutrition, recording by the gram what they ate the past week. Pretty rough, I know.
We went around the room, and the husbands had to critique the wives’ diets.
Erin gave me the evil eye when it came around to my turn. I’m not stupid, so I wasn’t going to throw her under the bus for cheesecake here or a Frosty there.
So, like the good husband I am, I simply pointed out Erin needed to eat more eggs and vegetables, but I first mentioned how she did a good job eating a lot of fruits.
It was a tad awkward, but most wives were given the benefit of the doubt.
That wasn’t all. We watched a video of two different births: one outdoors in a woman’s backyard, and another in a hospital with a C-section and a vacuum.
The video made us want to have a natural birth that much more, and luckily we had eaten snacks an hour earlier, so nobody had an accident.
Work calls this weekend, as I will be driving up to Madison for state wrestling, so I will miss my first class.
Erin will be taking notes.
What I feared would be an unnecessary waste of time and money a month ago is actually one heck of a learning experience. I feel like I’m taking my first steps of fatherhood.
I can’t promise the same shenanigans, but stories of me mimicking birth to relate to my wife will not disappoint.
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