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RAISING our three sons, my wife had put aside her dislike of sports and served as a Little League mother.  Now, eight years after the birth of our last, she was about to have a fourth child.  After the baby arrived, the nurse came out to the hospital waiting room to get me.  My wife was on a stretcher being wheeled back to her room when I caught up with her. "Your husband doesn't know what you had," the nurse said, prompting her.  My wife looked up with a drowsy smile and answered, "Another four years of Little League - that's what I had."

A married couple went to the hospital together to have their baby delivered. Upon their arrival, the doctor said he had invented a machine which would transfer a portion of the mother's labor pain to the father. He asked if they were willing to try it out, and they both agreed enthusiastically.
   The doctor set the knob to 10 percent for starters, explaining that even 10 percent was probably more pain than the father had ever experienced before. But as the labor progressed, the husband felt fine, so he asked the doctor to go ahead and bump it up a notch.
   The doctor then adjusted the machine to 20 percent pain transfer. The husband was still feeling fine, so the doctor upped the percentage to 50% and finally 100%, since the wife was obviously benefiting from the transfer. The wife delivered a healthy baby with virtually no pain. She and her husband were ecstatic.
   When they got home, the mailman was dead on their porch.

A FRIEND of mine was in the hospital awaiting the arrival of her first child. When I telephoned the hospital to see if the baby had arrived, the nurse said it had. I asked if it was a boy or girl and was told that it was against hospital policy to give this information over the phone. "Fine," I said. "I can understand that. But can you tell me what she didn't have?"  "It wasn't a boy," came the reply.

A WOMAN arrived at the hospital in the late stages of labour, and my daughter's doctor was assigned to her case. After a difficult delivery, the woman gave birth to a big, healthy baby. Afterwards the mother jokingly told the nurse that because she had felt "as big as a cow," she had told her husband she'd probably need a veterinarian to deliver the baby. With a twinkle in her eye, the nurse responded, "Well. I hate to tell you this, but the doctor is also a veterinarian."

MY SISTER-IN-LAW and I were pregnant at the same time. She went into labour, and my brother bundled her off to the hospital. A short time later, I arrived to keep him company, and he met me in the lobby. "Come back to the fathers' lounge," he said.  As we walked through the maternity ward, one patient gave my bulging figure a startled glance. "Will you look at, that!" we heard her exclaim to her roommate. "There he goes with another one!"

IT WAS my first return visit to the town in northern Alberta where I had started my maternity practice. When I moved away I had had to transfer several expectant mothers to another physician.  I was in a store when a former patient rushed up to say hello to me. You can imagine the startled expressions of the customers around us when she loudly exclaimed, "I remember you. You left town when I was eight months pregnant!"

WHEN my son, Guy, was born 24 years ago, my room at The Willett Hospital in Paris, Ont., was near the nursery. For the seven days I spent there, I listened to the same baby cry incessantly, hour after hour, day after day.  On the seventh day, as I was packing to leave, I said, very indignantly, to the nurse: "When is that baby going home?"  She smiled, gave me a sympathetic pat on the hand, and said, "How soon can your husband get here?"

WE SAT in the doctor's office. Forty-five minutes later he had still not arrived.  "What's keeping him?" my husband asked impatiently.   "I think he's delivering a baby," I replied.  He glanced at his watch again. "Well, how far does he have to deliver it?"

WHEN I was pregnant, we lived in a small town 25 kilometers from the nearest hospital. Since my husband spent a lot of time traveling in a company car, his co-workers agreed to notify him by two-way radio if I was taken to the hospital.   The great day arrived. Excited colleagues called my husband, who immediately sped to the hospital and dashed to the maternity floor. "My wife is having a baby!" he breathlessly announced to the nurse.  The nurse consulted her records. "She hasn't come in yet," she said.  "Well!" my nervous husband exclaimed. "I just thought that one of us should be here."

TOWARDS the end of my pregnancy, my doctor was called out of town. Right after he left, labour pains started and I headed for the hospital. Things progressed so quickly that I was never told who the attending doctor would be. A stranger in scrub suit, gloves and mask rushed into the room, delivered the baby, and dashed back out.  My husband leaned over me. "Who was that masked man?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

AFTER learning the Lamaze method of natural childbirth, I was admitted to the delivery room with my wife.  It seemed like an eternity before the doctor finally announced, "I've got the head now; just a few more minutes."   "Is it a girl or boy?" I asked excitedly. The doctor replied, "It's hard to tell by the ears."

MY ANXIOUS mother waited with me at the hospital for my wife to give birth to our second child. As the day dragged on, we were joined by other expectant fathers. Finally, a nurse appeared, called my name and announced that I was the father of a beautiful baby boy. But then she rechecked the baby's name tag, discovered that the baby belonged to one of the other fathers and corrected her mistake. "Just a minute," my mother demanded, jumping up. "My son was here first.

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Last updated May 19, 2008 by Becquet's Custom Programming