Trying To "Stirrup" Some Trouble

Ladies, do you really need a whole cheering section shouting “Push!”?

According to the New York Times News Service, there is a growing trend toward allowing multiple guests in the delivery room during labor. Some women even move their baby showers to the delivery room.

Rejecting privacy and modesty, proponents of this cultural shift insist that a circle of family and friends can make a birth even more wondrous than it already is. Yeah, so can hiring David Copperfield to help the baby make its escape, but ya gotta draw the line somewhere.

Contemporary mothers squeeze more and more guests into the delivery room because they can’t stand to slight anyone. Then, once they’re back on their feet, they resume playing tennis at their all-white country club.

Hospitals use the trend as a marketing tool. Visitors who get a warm, fuzzy vibe from the delivery room experience will turn to that hospital in the future, whenever they’re considering elective surgery, or just have a hankering for five dollar tongue depressors. (“Jim, I saw your kid today and it reminded me of my ‘roid troubles…”)

Be that as it may, some people just don’t belong in the delivery room. Grandmothers-to-be would have a captive audience for their nagging. (“Hmph! If you had married that nice young doctor instead of What’s His Name, I’ll bet we’d be in the hospital Express Lane now, instead of waiting 12 hours for delivery!”)

Invite your best friend to the delivery? Sure. Just don’t expect a moratorium on catty comments. (“Judy was really brave during her entire delivery. She kept a stiff upper lip. If only she had thought to wax her lip…”)

A bunch of typically rowdy male spectators can ruin the blessed event. (“Hey, you gonna let him slap you on the rear end like that, ya little wuss? Lay one upside his head, Junior!”)

Some women even invite their bosses to the birth. This can really blow the boss’s mind. (“It’s like I’m looking in a mirror! That’s the same expression I make when I grant a five-cent raise!”)

Why stop with the boss? Why not go for broke and invite the president? (“How was I supposed to know the pregnant woman’s water would break? Besides, this is a local issue, not a federal one!”)

There are just too many variables in childbirth for a woman to invite all her friends and acquaintances. What if there’s a breech birth? The baby would get off to a bad start in life if his first official act was “mooning” the preacher.

Do we really want childbirth to be a community event on the order of funerals? What puffy-faced, stringy-haired, groaning woman wants well-wishers commenting, “My, doesn’t she look natural?”

Those glamour photos for Christmas cards become sort of pointless after everyone on your list has seen you in labor, don’t they? It’s like installing a home security system and then leaving a neon sign that announces, “Here’s the pass code, and a can of ether for the guard dog.”

You’re entitled to your own opinion, but I’ll point out the simplicity of the most famous childbirth in history. The “Wise Men” were wise enough to show up long after the action. It might have been ugly otherwise. (“Frankincense? Myrrh? I want Demerol! Surely there’s room at the inn for Demerol!”)