They say you don’t really know someone until you have a kid with them. For me, it took going into labor to learn my husband, Jasper, thought childbirth was a spectator sport—complete with his gaming console, snacks, and a buddy for company.
It still feels like a wild dream.
Pregnancy changed everything. Not just my body, but how I saw Jasper. He was thrilled about the baby, and so was I. While I was nesting and Googling baby size charts, Jasper was… raiding dungeons. In his video games, I mean.
He’s always been a gamer, unwinding after long days as a construction project manager. I didn’t mind. It was his thing. “Babe, feel this!” I’d call at 2 a.m. when our baby kicked like a pro boxer. He’d pause his game, rush over, and rest his hand on my belly, eyes lighting up. “That’s our little ninja,” he’d whisper.
He was sweet, doting, and charming in his distracted way. But I worried—when the baby arrived, would he treat it like another game quest, or would reality hit? He came to every appointment, made late-night snack runs, and downloaded a contraction timer app. But he also brought his Switch to birthing class and asked the doula about hospital Wi-Fi. I laughed it off—hormones, right? Still, a tiny doubt lingered. Would he step up when it mattered?
His parents, Nora and Theo, were over the moon about the baby. They called weekly, sent tiny onesies and parenting books, and asked, “Is Jasper helping enough?” They were thrilled to be grandparents but seemed to quietly hope their son would get serious.
Nora had a calm, commanding vibe, like a retired principal. When she spoke, people listened. Theo was quiet, only speaking when it counted. “Jasper was always in his own world,” Nora told me once. “We had to pull him into reality.”
At 38 weeks, I told Jasper things were getting real. “It’s happening soon,” I said. “I need you there. Really there.” He smiled, nodded. “Of course, babe. I’ll bring something to keep me busy during the slow parts.”
I thought he meant a book or puzzle. Not… what he actually did.
“The first part of labor can drag,” he said one night while I packed my hospital bag. “My cousin’s wife was in labor for, like, 20 hours before anything big happened.”
“Big?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You know,” he said. “I don’t want to just sit there staring while you’re uncomfortable. That won’t help.”
He had a point, I thought. A little distraction might keep him calm, which would help me. Too tired to argue, I let it go. Jasper had been great all pregnancy—surely he’d rise to the occasion.
My water broke at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday. Early labor hit, and I was breathing through contractions while Nurse Renee got me settled in the delivery room. “Husband parking the car?” she asked, helping me into a gown.
“He’s grabbing our bags,” I said, wincing as a contraction rolled through. “Should be here soon.”
Then Jasper walked in, rolling a suitcase and carrying a tote. “Hospital bag?” I asked, hopeful.
“Nope,” he grinned. “Entertainment station.”
I kid you not—he pulled out a portable screen, his Xbox, a controller, an energy drink, a headset, and two giant bags of chips. Before I could process it, he was asking Renee for the nearest outlet. I’m panting through contractions, and he’s setting up his console on the table meant for my water cup.
“Jasper,” I gasped, “what are you doing?”
“Setting up,” he said casually. “Don’t worry, I won’t be in the way.”
“You’re here to support me,” I reminded him.
“And I will,” he said, not looking up from his cables. “But first babies take forever. Remember my cousin’s wife? 20 hours!”
Another contraction hit, and I gripped the bedrail, focusing on breathing. Jasper glanced over. “You good?”
“Not really,” I grunted.
“Need anything?”
“My husband,” I said sharply.
He nodded absently. “Once this is set up, I’m all yours.”
Then the kicker: his best friend, Finn, walked in with a Slurpee and a bag of fast food. Apparently, they’d planned a Call of Duty session while I “worked on dilating.” The smell of greasy burgers made my queasy stomach churn.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked.
“Moral support,” Jasper said, taking the food. “For both of us.”
Renee stepped in, her voice firm. “Only the patient and partner can stay.”
“She’s fine,” Jasper said. “This’ll take hours. We’ll just chill in the corner.”
I was mid-contraction when he said that. Finn looked uneasy. “Maybe I should come back later?”
“Nah, man,” Jasper said, handing him a controller. “We’ve got time. Doc’s not even here yet.”
Renee crossed her arms. “I need to check her progress and set up monitors. Anyone not supporting the mother needs to leave.”
Jasper muttered, “One sec, let me save this.”
Then karma arrived. Nora and Theo stood in the doorway, there to surprise us, taking in the whole scene—Xbox, headset, chips, and all. Nora’s eyes snapped from the console to me, then to Jasper.
“Jasper. Outside. Now,” she said, her voice low but cutting.
He went pale. Finn practically bolted. “Mom? Dad?” Jasper stammered. “What are you—”
“Outside,” Nora repeated, sharper this time.
What followed was a hushed but intense “talk” in the hallway. I didn’t hear it all, but Nora’s voice carried enough to know she wasn’t playing. Renee checked my vitals, giving me a small smile. “Your mother-in-law’s… effective.”
“You have no idea,” I whispered.
Ten minutes later, Jasper returned, looking like someone had reset his brain. Nora and Theo followed. Theo grabbed the Xbox and gear. “I’ll put this in the car,” he said, not glancing at Jasper.
Jasper packed up the rest, then came to my side, took my hand, and said, “I’m so sorry, Wren. I get it now. I’m here.”
Nora pulled a chair to my other side, wiping my forehead with a cool cloth. “We’ve got you both,” she said.
Jasper stayed with me through every contraction—no distractions, no complaints, just quiet support, ice chips, and encouragement. When things got brutal, I squeezed his hand so hard his fingers turned white. When I thought I couldn’t keep going, he looked me in the eyes. “You’re the strongest person I know,” he said.
Our daughter, Sage, was born that evening after 16 hours of labor.
When we brought her home, Nora and Theo stayed a few days—probably to make sure Jasper didn’t slip back into gamer mode. He didn’t. It was like that moment flipped a switch. The first night, when Sage cried at 3 a.m., Jasper got up, walked her around the living room, and sang off-key lullabies until she settled.
Sometimes people need a wake-up call to see what matters. Jasper wasn’t a bad guy—just clueless about what parenthood meant. That day in the delivery room could’ve broken us, but it didn’t. Nora and Theo’s timing wasn’t just luck—it was the universe giving Jasper the push he needed.
Now, when Sage kicks in her crib, Jasper’s the first to feel it, grinning like she’s his little ninja again. And I know we’re in this together—for real this time.
