Right Answer

Read Time: 4 mins

Christine hadn’t been pregnant long when, one day on my way to work, she called me in the car. 

“I need your help,” her voice crackled over the radio. I stared ahead at the endless motorway. The perfectly nice music I was listening to had now been replaced by the noise of my wife-to-be slamming her fingers onto computer keys.

“You don’t usually,” I said absent-mindedly.

“We have to sign up for the Kraamzorg and it’s always a risk if you don’t do it early that they can’t come and help.”

The Kraamzorg is another one of those incredible Dutch social systems. A health-care professional comes to your home for 8 to 10 days after birth to help teach you all about the baby, clean up the house post-birth, and allow you to take naps and recover from the experience. It’s available to everyone, for free, but with the current shortage of medical staff you do have to make sure you sign up early enough to ensure someone is available. Christine was 10 weeks pregnant.

“Oh yes, right, how can I help?”

“What’s your birthday?” Christine asked curtly.

“The 23rd of May, 1992,” I said, “wait, but you know my birthday.”

“Do we want full time or part time?” Christine ignored me.

“Full time?” I asked, “would anyone in their right mind ask for part time?”

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Desired way of feeding?”

“Who?”

“The baby”

“Right, umm, there are options?”

The keyboard sounds had stopped a while back and now I was sure I could hear the sound of the mouse roaming for something. A small click was followed by:

“Breast, formula, combination?”

“Umm, well you want to breastfeed, if I help I can do bottles, does that make it a combination?” The mouse clicked once more. I had answered right.

“Birth?”

“Yes.” 

“What type?”

“Easy,” I felt proud I knew the answer to that one.

“As in,” Christine didn’t seem to notice, “hospital, clinic or home?” 

I hesitated, this was a trick question. Christine is convinced that she is discreet. There is no one in the world who can convince her otherwise. There is also no one in the world who thinks that she is discreet. This was the voice of someone trying to subtly gauge what I wanted.

It’s common for Dutch women to give birth at home. As a matter of fact, that is the standard. You can select to go to hospital, something I felt more comfortable and familiar with having never been exposed to the idea of a home birth, but the norm is a home birth. She also has wanted to be a mother since forever and has “researched” every possible topic under the sun. Christine, therefore, has opinions. 

One of our early pregnancy conversations was about home birth. Christine had stated that we would be having a home birth. She was surprised to find out I had reservations. While I believe that, as she has to push the fleshy bowling ball out, she should have the final say. I wasn’t going to be walked over quite so quickly. I had asked for some time, and some open mindedness on her part to at least consider a hospital birth.

Apparently, this was the limit of my time. 

“Well,” I said slowly, “it’s only a desire, it’s not the fixed plan so I think you can put home birth.” I heard no mouse movement. “What else?”

“Nothing, that was it. Ok, thanks,” she went to change the subject.

“Did you just call me to ask questions you already knew the answers too?”

“No.” She said unconvincingly. “How could you tell?”

“The big giveaway is you haven’t typed anything since you called. So I’m guessing you filled in the form already.”

“Well,” she finally gave in, “I filled it in and then realised I probably should check with you that these were our wishes. I wanted you to feel included.”

“Oh, why, thank you. I feel both included and full of information now.”

“I promise we’ll talk about home births again, it’s just a wish, it’s ok if it doesn’t happen.” 

After we closed off the conversation I changed the radio channel. Salt N’ Pepa’s Push It came cracking through the old car’s speakers.