How to make a first impression

Read Time: 3.5 minutes

“I don’t know anything.” I said. Both of the midwife’s eyebrows twitched as she gallantly attempted to keep them in their designated places. “Like. Anything.”

“I know a lot.” Christine said. 

“Like,” I glitched. “A-ny-thing.”

Hanne, the first of four midwives we were due to meet, sat completely still. With a rather fabulous head of curls and bright pink jumpsuit, she sat across the desk from us with one leg tucked under the other, staring.

We must have made quite the first impression. 

It was early, by the standards of someone who works evenings, and I had pulled on the first clothes I could find. I looked presentable despite of the unruly bed head. Upon waking, an hour before our appointment, Christine had rolled over in bed looking as stunning as she always did. She smiled. I could tell she meant business.

“Do you think I should shave?” She asked.

“Shave?”

“For the appointment?” 

“Shave where?”

“You know,” she said rolling back to where she had come from, “for a sharp person, you’re impressively dim.”

The shower was already running in the next room when it dawned on me.

“Wait,” I pulled open the shower curtain. “You mean? There?” 

“Yes, Emma Holmes. My pubic hair.” She said as she rinsed the soap suds out of her hair, “close the curtain, it’s getting cold.”

“You think about these things?” I continued, ignoring her.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“You do?”

“We’re going in circles.”

Once we had established that there must be at least two varieties of women in the world: those who groom before a medical appointment, and those who are heathens, we realised we were running late.

I had been rather nervous for our first appointment with the midwives. Christine had set us up with the Wageningen office. I had pretended to help fill in the form by answering questions that Christine already had the answers to, such as, when is your birthday. 

It turns out that lots of women who wish to become mothers do a whole lot of baby obsessive googling before getting pregnant. Or, at least, my wife-to-be does. Christine’s level of birthing and baby obsession is borderline concerning. Though, as if to challenge her, the world sent her me: Chief Panic Officer & Clueless Emotional Support Lesbian.

Christine can answer most questions on birthing and babies. I cannot guarantee it’s true seeing as she seems to remember nothing about where she gets her information from, but I can guarantee that she will be confident in what she thinks is right. Whether it is or not is simply irrelevant.

“Like, anything…” my voice trailed off.

“That doesn’t matter,” Hanne smiled. “That’s why we are here.” 

By this stage in the conversation we had already discussed my mental breakdown upon discovering I was going to be a father and now I was, I feel very kindly, demonstrating it for her live and in person.

“You know, I just don’t know, how does the whole thing work? I mean I knew this was going to happen sometime in the coming months but - y’know - first time?! It worked, HA. Ah. See, I realise more and more how little I know. I know nothing, not a single thing, where do you start with so much information?! I don’t even know how it works to make one.”

I saw the flicker of horror in Hanne’s face quickly enough to try and rectify my error. It was not gracious.

“No, no, I mean I know how THAT works,” I could feel Christine’s eyes boring into the side of my head, “err” I laughed nervously. “Well at least theoretically.” Christine almost choked on her water. “I was trying to say that I don’t know the science.” Hanne’s eyes widened. “Like on a level deeper than high school…” The words had started. I didn’t know how to stop them. It was now substantially worse.

“Emma gets a bit nervous when she doesn’t know things.” Christine said, she placed her hand gently onto my thigh and squeezed. I grinned, in what I hoped looked like a cheerful way.

Chief Panic Officer and The Tiny Human Incubator left the midwives offices a few minutes later with a new appointment. I don’t know how many people need a separate appointment for the second half of their intake meeting. I like to believe all panicked parents might.

“I think we did rather well.” I said.

“Me too.” Christine smiled. “I’m really glad I didn’t shave.”