My hair is limp with sweat. The pain is unbearable, but I refused the drugs they offered. No one is here with me and all of a sudden I wish things had been different. I wish he was holding my hand. I want my mom to be here to coach me and help me through this.

But the only one here is the doctor. She’s not even my regular doctor. No, it’s an unfamiliar person in an unfamiliar room. It’s too sterile and white and I just want everything to be over. I just want everything to be like it was. But it can’t.

The doctor says to push once more. She tells me that in one more push it will all be over. She doesn’t say any of the comforting things that I need to hear. She doesn’t tell me the mothering things I should be hearing. She isn’t the proud father who should be videotaping this moment and swelling with fatherly pride. No, she just a doctor. I don’t want to be here, I want everything to go away.

“There you go.” She hands me my baby, a healthy girl, and I’ve fallen in love. I don’t want anything to change.