Best Husband Ever

Last night was the first child-related education class for us. This one was about breastfeeding - how it works, how it doesn't work, and basic techniques.

When I registered for this class, the form indicated that "spouses are welcome and encouraged to attend." I took this to heart, and told M I really wanted him to join me for the class. Granted, I'm the one with the equipment, and thus the one to actually do the deed of feeding Weeble. But from what I can tell, breastfeeding can be tricky business, and women doing it can use all the support they can get - especially from a spouse or partner.

M was mostly on board with the idea of coming to the class. His primary concern was that it's not really a "dad" event, that there would be only expectant mothers attending. I assured him that this couldn't possibly be the case. After all, the registration form encouraged partner participation, and everything I'd read at the threads about this topic at BabyCenter.com indicated that breastfeeding classes were definitely equal opportunity.

As last night's class approached, M had that look about him. The look I know so very well. The look that says, "I don't wanna do this and I'm going to try and get out of it." Before he could even open his mouth, I said, "No way, you are COMING to this class with me and that's it!" Turns out, his concern was putting Ollie pup back in his crate for yet a few more hours (he's not quite trustworthy for a full day of roaming the house just yet). I agreed, this is a lousy situation. But it's a one-time deal, and we don't leave him crated any more than absolutely necessary. As a compromise, we decided to leave him out of the crate for the time we were gone to test his non-destructive inclinations. So with a few pleading moments of "don't eat the couch," we took our leave and headed to the hospital for breastfeeding class.

We walked in - just a minute or two late - and it was immediately clear. I was so very, very wrong. There were no other daddies-to-be. No supportive spouses. M was it. The lone guy in a very mother-oriented class. He (kindly) didn't say anything, but cast me a sardonic sidelong glance, to which I replied, "Not a word." This, of course, was simply my guilt for having dragged him to this class. He was willing to be supportive, but I knew going in that he had his doubts about attending this particular class.

What a guy. I don't know how I got so lucky with this one. He sat through it, and he took it all in with barely any noticeable discomfort. Even the teacher had some props for him, noting that while breastfeeding might seem like strictly a "mom" thing, dads need to be as supportive, knowledgeable, and on board as possible. I couldn't have been prouder. I couldn't help but wonder if all the other expectant moms there were thinking to themselves, "My husband is a dog! Why isn't he here supporting me??" Yep. What a guy. And he's all mine.

During a brief break, I apologized profusely for making him come. I had truly believed there would be many couples there. Why shouldn't there be? Feeding a child - whether the equipment is attached to one parent or there are bottles and formula to mix - should be a family affair. M was so good about it. I couldn't make him stay for the second half. So I sent him home to figure out dinner, entertain Ollie pup, and wait for me to be ready to picked up. He didn't miss too much in the second half - nothing he can't pick up from reading a book or being told by me. And I missed only the pleasure of his presence, and the fact that we're both of the same juvenile mentality to find the same things funny.

What I walked away with from this situation is that I have an awesome, amazing, supportive husband, and I am lucky for it. Not that I didn't already know this. But it's really wonderful to be reminded of it. He put himself out there into a place that was undoubtedly uncomfortable and weird, simply because he knew I wanted him there with me. What a guy.