Red Tent or Speak Easy?

Over the past several months, I have joined my wife on perhaps the most magnificent and meaningful activity of human life. Week after week, I have watched her grow my child. During that time, I have attended 9 appointments to her midwives, and witnessed her give birth. I have witnessed and felt more than I knew I could or was welcome to witness and feel. Most of the time, I was the only dad in the waiting room. I attended and helped to plan a baby shower where only one man showed up (thank you Damian). Throughout the entire process, women and men alike were astounded when it was made evident that I had done my research and that I had opinions on how Luca would start his life. Like the Tide commercial that ran during these last Olympics ("To their mom's, they're always kids"), the entire process was aimed at moms, and the word dad never even came up.

However, I was welcomed by the midwives and doulas, and the women in my life who wanted to talk about the baby. If I felt uncomfortable, it was only because there was a bouncer to the door of my masculinity asking, "Are guys really supposed to be here? Oh yeah? What's the password?" At my wife's first appointment, the midwife proceeded with the gynocological exam without asking me to leave the room, and casually offered to show me the cervix. It was clear at that moment that the flap to the door of the "Red Tent" was wide open, and it was only my self-oppression, my inner-masculinity-bouncer, that kept me from going in. But I went in. What was the pass word? A simple, "Thank you, yes."