by karen buscemi
The only thing I expected from my
husband in the delivery room
was to be there. I wasn’t looking
for a cheerleader to root me on with,
“Almost there! Just one more push!” I
didn’t need a play-by-play announcer to
inform me, “And the head is starting to
crown now, folks. This rookie has preparing nine months for this.”
Truth be told, I didn’t care if he cut
the cord, turned and faced the wall or
passed out on the cold linoleum. As long
as he was in the room with me, I was
happy. (For the record, he
sat on the couch beside
the bed, covering his eyes
with one hand.Worked
for me.)
However, now that the
baby is here, I expect
everything.