I consider myself a fairly sensitive, in-touch-with-his-emotions kind of guy, but for whatever reason, I rarely cry. I don’t chalk it up to my upbringing, because I wasn’t raised by a macho dad or parents who taught that expressing any sad or tender emotions was a sign of weakness in a man. I got the normal dose of that kind of thinking from my cultural surroundings, but consciously at least, I don’t withhold tears out of a sense of shame. When I do cry, it’s much more likely to be the slightly leaky watery-eyed kind than the hyperventilating snotty kind. And while I feel deeply emotional about the big joys and sorrows of my life, it doesn’t usually come out in tears. My tears are more likely to be triggered by the stereotypical “safe” things for men to cry about, like watching Rudy or Brian’s Song, than by sad or joyous things that happen to me directly.
When I was in the operating room with Kate to welcome our daughters into the world (by c-section), it was one of the most profoundly emotional experiences of my life. It was mostly joyous emotions flowing through me, but there was some fear mixed in, too. I knew tears in the delivery room are common, and I made no conscious effort to suppress them, but even there, I didn’t cry.
In the NICU, we’re allowed to hold our babies twice a day – once during day shift and once during night shift. (Both shifts last 12 hours.) Because the babies are still spitting up and overstimulation can lead to more of that, it’s recommended that we arrive for holding a half hour before feeding, so we can hold them on an empty stomach and put them back in their isolettes when it’s feeding time. Claire’s feeding schedule is a half hour ahead of Brooke’s, so if we’re a little late and it cuts into holding time, it’s always Claire who gets stiffed.
Kate was discharged yesterday, and the doctor recommended not returning to the hospital for a visit on discharge day, so I returned in the evening for a solo visit, intending to hold both of our daughters. I was there right on time, maybe even a few minutes early, but the nurse assigned to our girls was busy with something and didn’t come over for at least 10-15 minutes after I got there. I assume (or at least hope) she was busy with something important, because when she finally did come over and I said I was ready to hold Claire, she told me it was too close to feeding now so I wouldn’t get to hold Claire tonight.
I cried a little.
