Balls.

Read Time: 6.5 mins

The beer coasters were laid out in front of us and we all stared at them. Our mediators were 2Kids and 3Kids, two young Dutch men who were eyeing us sombrely. 2Kids gesticulated in the direction of the beer mats and said:

“So, which of these images speak to you?”

Obediently we all leant in to look at the pictures. On all of them was a cartoon picture of a white man faced with the struggles of becoming a father. To demonstrate this the man in question was wearing a white t-shirt with Manly Man printed in bold letters across the chest, having his identity challenged.

In one image he juggled a playstation controller, baby bottle, and briefcase. On another, Manly Man sat naked with pixelated genitals on the side of a bed as his wife cuddled a baby and ignored him. There was even a picture of the not-so-happy couple standing alertly in front of a ticking time bomb. 

As my eyes slowly wandered, widening in horror, from one drawing to the next, I couldn’t help but wonder how I had ended up here.

Six weeks earlier Christine and I had joined our first ‘Centering Pregnancy Group’. An initiative put on by the midwives for expecting parents. We found ourselves cramped into a tiny room sitting in a big circle with another 9 couples. 

As the midwife shared the schedule with us, she mentioned that there would be a special meet-up just for the partners.

“It’s put on by an outside group. They will e-mail your wives to tell you when the meeting will take place, and where. You talk about all things partner, I guess.” She sounded as dubious as I felt.

“Sounds a bit cult like doesn’t it?” I whispered to Christine.

Christine elbowed me in the ribs.

The organisation of the partner meet-up felt like it was meant to teach us our first lesson in parenting. Half the members of the group didn’t receive the first e-mail, and those who did were hardly more informed. The only information offered was a date and a promise that if you replied to the e-mail to sign-up that you would receive further information.

It wasn’t until 36 hours before that we received a time and location for our gathering. 

I found myself a little on edge, after being brave enough to reply to the e-mail subject “Baby & Bitterballen (BB) for (soon-to-be) fathers” with the following note: 

My name is Emma and my partner Christine is currently carrying our first child. If you will have me then I would like to join the partner's evening. I'm aware I am not a man but I will happily wear my most manly outfit for the occasion!

And hearing nothing in return, I wasn’t certain whether I might have to get my fake beard out of storage.

The meet-up was on the first Monday after the school Christmas break. Christine had a 38 degree fever and was being pumped full of antibiotics. To add to that challenge, we were also snowed in. 30 cm of snow had fallen over the last few days and while the Dutch were incredibly efficient and clearing roads and bike paths, it was still precarious enough for me to choose to walk half an hour in -5 degree temperatures.

As my boots crunched in the show and my nose turned red from the cold, I could only think that if this was an omen for parenthood then surely there was no way that even Christine could spin this to be a good one. 

Ahmed, a charming Nigerian father-to-be, arrived by bike just as I arrived at the bar.

“Where are all the bikes?” He asked confused.

“Maybe everyone walked?” 

“But it’s the Netherlands.”

“Well, I reckon you deserve to get nationality immediately for your efforts.”

We both started laughing but then stopped quickly as it hurt. 

While we were on time we were still two of the last to arrive. Only Ben and Durk were a minute or two after us. Ben had texted me earlier to say that he refused to go to the meet-up if I wasn’t there. I shot him a look and he grinned back at me. I suspected he also felt like the BB organisation might be a little cult like.

And so here we were, 6 soaking wet fathers-to-be ogling 5 cartoons of an unhappy Manly Man.

3kids was cute but forgettable and 2kids had crazy eyes. 

“Well?” 2Kids probed, “do none of these pictures speak to you?”

“You,” he gestured towards Ben, “how do you feel about this?” He pointed to the image of Manly Man standing in front of a moon and stars with huge bags under his eyes, cradling a baby.

“Well,” Ben sat forwards, “well, maybe I’m an optimist but all I can see is a man holding his baby and all I can think is it would nice to hold my baby.”

2Kids blinked unchangingly.

“And I’m an insomniac anyway.” Ben’s voice tailed off.

It clearly wasn’t the answer 2Kids was after and he moved on to the thoughts of the other men around the table.  

For the next hour and a half, we continued to sit around and discuss each of the coasters. How would we deal with waiting for sex after our wives had given birth? Should you give up gaming? And, how do you avoid arguments when all you want to do is argue? These were some of the many topics we briefly touched upon.

In an attempt to connect with us Crazy Eyes was able to say possibly the scariest thing I’ve heard since announcing I was expecting my first child.

“You know,” he said wisely, “one day some months in to being a parent you will realise as you stand there screaming at the baby that no matter what you want to do, or who you want to be, you will always turn into your own parents.”

The silence was deafening.

As we reached the end of the meet-up, we were asked if there was anything we’d like to talk about. Something triggered 2Kids and he suddenly said: “Oh man, I forgot to say, I think it’s important that we talk about the birth itself. Like, for me, it was kind of traumatic and we don’t warn guys about that.” Ben snorted, thinking 2Kids was joking. He wasn’t. The snow continued to fall and at exactly 20:59, about 30 seconds after this comment, 2Kids and 3Kids announced that the session was over. They made us fill in a not-so-anonymous survey about our time together right in front of them and then they got up and left. 

I will give 2Kids the benefit of the doubt and assume that something went wrong during the birth of his first child and that the innate Dutch culture of we must leave on time stopped him from elaborating on the topic because the alternative is an attitude I would like to believe modern men have quashed. 

The Baby & Bitterballen meet-up 100% failed on delivering on its title. There were neither babies nor bitterballen. 

However, that being said, the concept is an excellent one. It was a shame that it lacked some structure and any form of positivity. I wish we could have spoken about the things we were excited for too. Yes, there is plenty I am worried for and afraid of, but there is much to look forward to as well. It would have been nice to share that with some other people in the same situation. Yes, we may have sleepless nights but with that comes soft skin-to-skin cuddles, maybe we give up gaming for a bit in favour of naps with the baby, and maybe I won’t be able to do the things I love so much because I have a baby, but possibly I’ll do other things I love more.

So, while I genuinely applaud the initiative and hope it will grow, for now, we, in essence, did a very poorly run group therapy about problems we don’t yet have. Baby steps for Baby & Bitterballen.

The irony really is that all of these problems could have probably been solved if it was run by a woman.