Fatherhood: Not for heroes
Childbirth is a bonfire of the vanities for men — but there are rewards for those who persevere
Astudy reveals that an astonishing number of expectant fathers — 13% — experience depressive symptoms during their partner’s pregnancy. Astonishing because I had imagined it would be considerably higher.
Little research has been done on male reactions to pregnancy and childbirth. Instead we live with inbuilt assumptions — the man will be as blissful and anticipatory as the mother expects herself to be; when the big day comes, his life, like hers, will transform, not without difficulty but unquestionably for the better.
Time for a reality check. Becoming a first-time father is many things — terrifying, joyful, nerve-racking, exciting — but unconflicted it isn’t. Although most men eventually come to savour the fantasy of being a father, they also dimly anticipate the reality — and for a father, childbirth is the bonfire of the vanities.
That is probably a correct way of putting it, as on the whole, men are vain. I don’t know why it should remain so after decades of feminism, but there is something either in the culture or male genes that makes men believe they are mystically entitled to be the centre of attention. This is partly born of romantic myth, partly born of the fact that men are given a hero narrative from birth — they must be the ones to save the maiden, provide for the family, take risks, do extraordinary things and return to the cave with rewards.
A baby puts an end to all that. Fatherhood is anything but heroic. Leave that for the mother. If a man isn’t prepared — and many, if not most, are not (everybody lies about it all the time) — he is in for a shock. Of course, he’s heard about changing nappies and getting up in the night and the capacity of babies to scream their lungs out for hours, but all of this, he assumes, will pale against the glowing corona of love that will spread around him and his partner.
No doubt for some it happens that way. For others, it doesn’t. After childbirth, a man has to face some hard truths. The chief one is he is off centre stage. For women, who I risk suggesting are less egocentric and more interested in connection and relationship, this is not such a shock. They pay a different price, particularly if they have a career they love, which often has to take a back seat. Such a choice rarely has to be faced by men. And, of course, mothers are vulnerable to the well-documented horrors of postnatal depression.
But as childbirth approaches, men have to face this simple fact: they are not as important as they thought they were, at least not in the way they thought they were. They are being inched out of the way in favour of the next generation. Birth is a beginning but also an end — the end of a particular male narrative that they can somehow be free, adventurous and an enduring focus for their wife’s romantic feelings. In fact all the wife’s adoration is now going to shift pretty quickly to the child — which is as it should be. Along with this, she will likely be rather more interested in other mothers than her perhaps once idealised husband.
The arrival of a first baby from the point of view of the father is a massive shift, just as it is for the mother. Antenatal depression is rational enough. The solution? To keep reminding yourself what it can sometimes be hard to believe when you find yourself suddenly living on the fringes of your own life. It’s all worth it in the end — truly. — © It was Johan’s first trip to a psychiatrist. A remarkable fact, given his Calvinist upbringing. After arranging himself on the couch, he laid his head back and opened his soul.
“I was watching rugby when there was this tightening in my chest.”
“What was happening i n the game?” asked Dr Vasi Naidoo. “We were losing against Japan.” “Johan, what you experienced was a feeling.” “A feeling?” “Yes. A reaction to events beyond your control.” Dr Naidoo put his notepad down. “Feelings are a part of life, Johan. It’s our body’s way of telling us what’s going on.”
Johan stroked his stomach. It was a lot to take in.
“The next couple of days will be difficult,” the doctor went on. “The Boks are through to the knockout stage, I believe?”
“That’s right, we’re in the semifinals,” said Johan, his voice sounding surprisingly grave.
“I was afraid of that. Come kickoff time you’re going to feel a lot of things Johan, all at once: anxiety, fear, frustration, anger — even joy. We in the profession call it an ‘emotional roller coaster’, which, in my opinion, is very misleading since it’s neither fun nor quickly over.”
The doctor was hitting his stride. “I see you’re wearing a Springbok jersey. How does that make you feel?” “Comfortable, I guess. It’s light.” “Mmm, that’s no good. You’re in a comfort zone, Johan. A false sense of belief that everything is OK, and will remain so, as long as you’re wearing the jersey. Why don’t you take it off?” “Right now?” Johan took off his jersey and placed it on the floor. Half naked, he felt even more vulnerable. Dr Naidoo reached for his Rorschach test cards.
“What do you see, Johan? There’s no right or wrong answers. “Black. It’s all black.” “OK, and this one?” “Richie McCaw.” “How about this one?” “Richie McCaw, arms in the air.” Dr Naidoo put the cards down and leaned back. Jung’s theory — the notion of an unresolved tension between the ego and the unconscious — flashed through his mind. “Tell me about 2011, Johan.” Johan’s eyes welled up. “We dominated Australia most of the match,” he said, holding back tears. “John Smit said it was the first match we lost on the scoreboard and won everywhere else. I watched the game at a bar, or maybe I was home, I can’t remember. People were dik die moer in. Someone threw a cat against a wall.” Johan paused.
“The police picked me up at around 3am crossing William Nicol Drive shouting Waltzing Matilda. They said I was delirious and that I smelled of defeat — and alcohol.”
Dr Naidoo put his notepad down. He’d heard enough. Johan had earlyonset World Cup neurosis brought on by previous trauma. Treatment was standard; prognosis, uncertain.
He handed Johan his jersey and sent him away with a packet of Valium. He took two himself.
As the drugs took hold he wondered: Will Fourie du Preez out-think them? Will Duane Vermeulen fire? In short, would the Springboks win the World Cup?