My Husband Brought His Gaming PC to the Delivery Room and Invited His Friend Because He ‘Didn’t Want to Be Bored While I Was in Labor’
They say you never truly know someone until you have a child with them. In my case, it took going into labor to realize that my loving husband, Michael, considered childbirth more of a spectator sport than a shared experience. His “support” came in the form of his gaming computer, snacks, and a friend to keep him company.
Pregnancy changed everything—not just for me, but for how I saw Michael. He was excited, sure. We both were.
But while I was nesting and Googling every fruit-size comparison for our baby, Michael was… well, raiding dungeons. In-game, that is.
He’s always been a gamer, and honestly, I didn’t mind. Gaming was his way of unwinding after long days at the construction site where he worked as a project manager.
“Babe, feel this!” I’d call out at 2 a.m. when our baby decided to practice kickboxing against my ribs.
“Coming!” Michael would respond, pausing his game and rushing over to place his hand on my belly. His eyes would light up with wonder when he felt the movement. “That’s our little ninja,” he’d whisper, smiling.
For the most part, during the pregnancy, he was sweet, doting, and even charming in his own distracted way. But one thing gnawed at me—when the baby actually arrived, would he still treat it like another “quest,” or would reality hit differently?
He came to every appointment, made late-night snack runs, and even downloaded a contraction timer app. But he also brought his Switch to the birthing class and asked the doula if we’d have hospital Wi-Fi.
At the time, I laughed it off—hormones and all—but there was always a flicker of doubt in the back of my mind. Would he rise to the occasion when it really mattered?
His parents, especially his mom, Margaret, were over the moon about the baby. They called every week to check in, sent tiny onesies and parenting books, and asked questions like, “Is Michael helping enough?”
It was clear they were excited to become grandparents, but I got the sense they were also quietly praying their son would step up when the time came. Margaret had this calm, commanding energy that reminded me of a retired school principal—when she spoke, people listened. Robert, Michael’s dad, was quiet and serious, only speaking up when it really mattered.
“He was always in his own world,” Margaret confided during one of her visits. “Even as a child. We had to work extra hard to pull him into reality.”
By the time I reached 38 weeks, I decided it was time to have the “talk” with Michael.
“It’s getting real,” I said, gently. “We’re having this baby soon. And when it happens, I’m going to need you there. Like, really there.”
He smiled, nodded, and said, “Babe, of course. I’ll just bring something to keep me busy during the boring parts.”
I assumed he meant a book, maybe a crossword puzzle, or some emails to catch up on. I didn’t expect what actually happened.
“The first part of labor can take forever,” he explained one night as I packed my hospital bag. “My cousin’s wife was in labor for like 20 hours before anything exciting happened.”
“Exciting?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean,” he said, shrugging. “I just don’t want to sit there staring at you while you’re uncomfortable. That won’t help either of us.”
He had a point, I thought. Maybe a little distraction would keep him calm, which would, in turn, keep me calm. Honestly, I was too tired and too pregnant to argue about hypotheticals.
Besides, Michael had been so supportive throughout the pregnancy. Surely he’d rise to the occasion when our daughter decided to make her entrance into the world.
I was admitted after my water broke at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday. Early labor was starting, and I was breathing through contractions while a nurse named Renee got me settled in the delivery room.
“Your husband parking the car?” she asked as she helped me into the hospital gown.
“He’s grabbing our bags,” I said, wincing as another contraction built. “He should be here any minute.”
Then, in walks Michael, rolling a small suitcase and carrying a tote bag.
“Hospital bag?” I asked, hopeful.
“Nope,” he grinned. “Entertainment station.”
I kid you not. He pulled out his gaming laptop, a controller, an energy drink, a headset, and two family-sized bags of chips.
Before I could process what was happening, he was asking Renee where the nearest outlet was. There I was, breathing through contractions, while he set up his console on the little rolling table that was meant for my water cup and monitors.
“Michael,” I gasped between breaths, “what are you doing?”
“Setting up,” he replied casually. “Don’t worry, I won’t be in the way.”
“You’re here to support me,” I reminded him.
“And I will,” he promised, not looking up from the screen. “But the doctor said first babies can take forever. Remember my cousin’s wife? 20 hours!”
I was about to respond when another contraction hit, stronger than before. I grabbed the bedrail, focusing on my breathing. Michael glanced over.
“You good?” he asked.
“Not really,” I gasped.
“Need anything?”
“My husband,” I said pointedly.
He nodded absently, then went back to his setup. “Once I get this going, I’ll be right there.”
And then, the cherry on top.
“Yo, she said you were only like 3cm, right?”
That sentence came from his best friend, Greg, who walked in 10 minutes later with a Slurpee in one hand and fast food in the other.
Apparently, they had planned a little Call of Duty session while I “worked on dilating.”
The smell of greasy burgers filled the room, making my already queasy stomach turn.
“What is he doing here?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Moral support,” Michael replied, taking the food from Greg. “For both of us.”
Renee stepped in, her professional tone now laced with steel. “Sir, you can’t be here unless you’re the patient or the partner.”
“She’s fine. This’ll take hours,” Michael said, unbothered. “We’re just gonna chill in the corner.”
I was literally mid-contraction when he said that.
Greg, at least, had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Maybe I should come back later?”
“Nah, man,” Michael said, handing him a controller. “We’ve got time. The doctor won’t even be in for a while.”
Renee crossed her arms. “Actually, I need to check her progress and set up her monitors. So, everyone who’s not directly supporting the mother needs to step out.”
Greg hesitated. Michael didn’t even look up from the screen. “One sec,” he muttered, “just let me save this.”
And that’s when karma arrived.
Standing in the doorway were Margaret and Robert. They came to surprise us and caught the entire scene unfolding.
Margaret’s eyes dropped from the screen… to the headset… to me… and then snapped back to her son.
She didn’t raise her voice.
She simply said, “Michael. Outside. Now.”
He went pale. Greg practically ran out the door.
“Mom? Dad?” Michael stammered. “What are you—”
“Outside,” Margaret repeated, her voice quiet but firm.
What followed was a closed-door “conversation” between Michael and his parents in the hallway. I don’t know exactly what was said, but I could hear Margaret’s hushed intensity through the door.
Renee busied herself checking my vitals, offering a sympathetic smile. “Your mother-in-law seems… effective.”
“You have no idea,” I whispered.
When Michael came back in about ten minutes later, his face looked like someone had just reprogrammed his entire operating system.
His parents followed him in, and Robert quietly picked up the controllers and other equipment.
“I’ll put this in the car,” Robert said, not looking at his son.
Michael unplugged everything, packed it up, and came to my side. Taking my hand, he said, “I’m so sorry, Amy. I get it now. I’m here.”
Margaret pulled up a chair on my other side, reached for a washcloth, and gently wiped my forehead. “We’ll take care of you both,” she promised.
Michael stayed by my side for the rest of the labor. No distractions. No complaints. Just quiet support, ice chips, and whispered encouragement through every contraction.
When things got really intense, he let me squeeze his hand until his fingers turned white. When I doubted I could keep going, he looked me in the eyes and told me I was the strongest person he’d ever known.
Our daughter, Lily, was born that evening after 16 hours of labor.
When we brought her home three days later, Michael’s parents stayed a few extra days. I suspect they stayed to make sure their son continued acting like an adult.
To be fair, he’s been amazing ever since. It’s like that moment flipped a switch in him.
The first night home, when Lily wouldn’t stop crying at 3 a.m., he was the one who got up, walked her around the living room, and sang off-key lullabies until she finally settled.
Sometimes, people need a wake-up call to understand what really matters. My husband wasn’t a bad person—just someone who hadn’t fully grasped the gravity of becoming a parent.
That day in the delivery room could have driven us apart. Instead, it brought us closer together. Margaret and Robert showing up wasn’t just good timing. It was the universe sending my husband exactly what he needed.
You’ve just read, My Husband Brought His Gaming PC to the Delivery Room. Why not read Manager Had To Hire A New Employee.