Baby—and Father—Doing Well
By Leonard Wibberley
Originally published in the Boston Globe June 14, 1980
6/17/2017
I once went to live in Portugal with my wife and children for what seemed an excellent reason at the time.
I was enormously fond of sardines and the brand I bought most often was marked “Produced in Portugal.” I knew nothing of the country or its history beyond the fact that it was, at the time, ruled by the dictator Salazar and had once been rule by a king nicknamed “Pedro the Cruel.”
So I sold my house and all its furnishings, put the family in the car and drove to New York, there to embark on a Greek ship bound for Lisbon. My wife was very pregnant at the time, but of a trusting and adventurous disposition. We decided that babies were born all over the world and the Portuguese must know as much about the process as Americans.
We found a villa outside Lisbon. In a little village called Malveira de Serra, and my first task was to find a doctor for Hazel, my wife. We found an efficient doctor running a maternity clinic in nearby Cascais, who told her she was too thin and must put on weight.
“But in America we do the opposite. We try to keep the mother’s weight down,” Hazel said.
He nodded sagely. “The Americans have many interesting peculiarities,” he said. “You should be at least 20 pounds heavier.”
So Hazel grew and grew and grew and all who know and met her complimented her on her healthy girth. “You will have a fine baby,” they said. “A boy.”
They were right. The baby (Rory), when born, weighed close to 10 pounds and grew to be the tallest son in my family.
While Hazel was getting her advice on pregnancy from the doctor, I got mine from the taxi driver who took us to the clinic weekly.
“Senor, this is a very dangerous time for you,” said the taxi driver. “You do not drink wine?
“No.”
“Oh, but you must drink a lot of wine. You must drink wine, eat plenty of meat and cheese. Avoid exercise. Do not do any hard work. The strength is being drained from your body day by day, hour by hour and minute by minute. When the time comes for the delivery, you must have a huge reserve to survive. Get plenty of sleep.”
“But it is my wife who is having the baby,” I said.
“Yes. But it is from you that the strength of the child is being drawn. There is no more dangerous time in a man’s life than when his wife gives birth. That is well known.”
“It isn’t well known in America,” I replied.
“The Americans are peculiar people,” he said. “Furthermore, they do not know everything.”
The big surprise came when I took Hazel to the maternity clinic to have the baby. She was received by a nurse and put to bed and the doctor summoned. Then the nurse turned to me.
“Senor,” she said. “I have a bed for you. Lie down. Be calm. Rest yourself. The time is at hand. Have courage.”
So I lay myself down on the bed, was given a glass of wine and fell asleep happily. When I woke up, my son was born, my wife in excellent condition, and I felt pretty good too.
I would say that Portugal is as good a place as I know for a father to have a baby.
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