The Better Half(79)
“It’s not a birthing class. Don’t go looking to spoil my fun.”
Refusing to register for a hospital birthing class was one of many times in the past few months I now realize I crushed Leo’s new dad spirit as the seasoned know-it-all. The fact Leo is now taking a birthing class solo kills me. I didn’t understand it was so important to him. Or maybe I did, but what I wanted, which was nights at home, was more important to me. I would do anything to take back my dismissal of Leo’s interest in learning how to be a good partner in the delivery room. I can feel Marisol’s disappointment in me, again, without her even knowing this latest infraction.
I put the paper I’m holding down, vigorously wipe my fingers on my dress, and pick it back up. In six steps, complete with pictures, are directions on how to create playground-perfect ponytails. No graphic pictures of an alien pushing out a vagina, just a Black dad smiling at me as he deftly brushes, twists, and clips a perfect hairdo. At the bottom, in Leo’s lawyer scrawl, he’s written, “How do I brush my child’s hair without hurting them?”
I pick up a stapled stack of papers titled, “What You Need to Know Today Before Bringing a Black Child into the World Tomorrow.” Leo has notes written all along the margins, top and bottom. Highlights and arrows direct the eye to different bullet points. In someone else’s scrawl it says, “Don’t ask your kid if they want watermelon. JK!”
I flip the binder on its edge so I can read the spine. In a big, bold font is the acronym BTBP, and in longhand, Black to Basics Parenting. I put the binder and papers back down on the chair and keep my back to Leo, I don’t want him to see the mix of nosiness and sorrow on my face. Xandra’s first three years of life, I begged Graham to sign up for a parenting group with me so we could meet other couples with newborns. When he scoffed at the idea, I signed up anyway and made excuses for Graham’s absence over cheese and crackers and sharing teething nightmares. Now I’ve done to Leo exactly what Graham did to me.
“If this isn’t a birthing class, what type of class is it?”
“Well, under normal circumstances we would have known each other for a lot longer, gotten to know each other’s families better before having a child.”
I drop my head; this is where Leo finally comes down to earth and admits he’s overwhelmed by the responsibility of me, the baby, his skyrocketing career.
“Nina, turn around.” I don’t. “I’m not continuing until you turn around, this isn’t high school. We’re adults here, and there’s no ignoring that we have a baby coming soon.” Calling out adolescent behavior on an educator is a nervy move. I turn around. “But that’s not how we did it. And so, what? We did it our way, and I couldn’t be happier I get to be a dad, something I didn’t think was in the cards for me. We’re just doing it at super speed.”
“If we’re using school analogies, we skipped a couple of grades.”
“Yes, we have. And all my buddies who are dads, their kids are already well into school. They’ve lost their excitement over babies, kind of like you have, because it’s been ten years since they were in my shoes.”
“I haven’t . . .”
“Let me finish. I don’t have anyone in your family or my friends to help me out on the baby front, so I had to figure out a way to educate myself.”
“But why this class?” I hold up the binder and read out loud, “Black to Basics Parenting.”
“I’m not clueless, Nina, though sometimes I get the feeling you think I am. I know our situation is less than typical. I know my baby’s not going to look exactly like me. I know people will assume it’s not mine, and there’s more that I don’t know at this point than I do, but all that means is I have double the learning to do.”
Has Leo had more of a clue than I have given him credit for all these months?
“And you, I hate to tell you”—Leo points right at me—“but you are not the only book nerd. I kill it in the classroom too. Summa cum laude at Pomona. Stanford Law Review. And, yes, you should be impressed.” Leo grins and writes a big A+ with his finger in the air. “And I plan on graduating top of this parenting class too.”
“Why didn’t you want me to take this class with you?” I ask, though my gut knows the answer. Leo doesn’t even entertain my question.
“I need to learn how to take care of a baby, and I’m the lucky dad with the added bonus of learning how to do it for my Black child. So, I looked for a class that was geared toward parents of Black children.”
I’m quickly filing through my brain trying to figure out a proper response. Nothing but surprise comes to mind.
“I went to one class I found through a community center, but all the moms in the group were too bossy. They never let any of us dads talk or ask questions.” Another time I will have to educate Leo on the truth that there’s nothing bossier than a Black mother. If only Celia were here, she could have given Leo an immersion course.
“So, then I found another parenting class not too far from my house for Black fathers.”
I raise my eyebrows at Leo. No need to state the obvious.
“I showed up early the first night and explained my situation to the group leader. Surprise baby, stubborn mother, he got the picture real quick and had me wait outside while he checked with the other dads.”