My Husband Brought an Xbox to the Delivery Room and Invited His Friend Because He ‘Didn’t Want to Be Bored While I Was in Labor’ – Here’s What Happened Next!

When I got pregnant, I expected the usual surprises—cravings, swollen feet, maybe a dramatic water-breaking moment like in the movies. What I didn’t expect was discovering, in the middle of labor, that my husband Michael viewed childbirth the same way he viewed a new video game release: an event to observe, snack through, and maybe livestream if he could get the Wi-Fi password.

To be clear, Michael’s always been a gamer. It’s part of who he is. After long days managing construction sites, unwinding in a digital world kept him sane. I didn’t mind it—at least, not at first. He’d pause a raid to feel our baby kick, coo sweetly at my belly and call her his “little ninja.” He even came to every OB appointment, held my hair when I puked in the first trimester, and downloaded a contraction timer app. He was supportive… in a very pixelated way.

Still, I wondered—when push came to literal shove, would he get it? Would he show up in the way I needed?

As my due date crept closer, I brought it up.

“When it’s time,” I said gently, “you’ll be there, right? Fully present?”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll just bring something for the downtime, so I’m not climbing the walls during the boring parts.”

I thought he meant a crossword or a book. Maybe Sudoku. I should’ve asked more questions.

The morning my water broke, Michael was calm and efficient—grabbing the bags, starting the car, timing my contractions. Once we arrived at the hospital and I got settled, he popped back out to grab the “entertainment tote.”

What he returned with was… something else.

His Xbox. A mini monitor. Headset. Cables. Chips. Energy drinks. I sat on the hospital bed, mid-contraction, staring as my husband transformed the delivery room into a gaming den.

“You brought the Xbox?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll just chill in the corner and keep quiet unless you need me.”

That would’ve been bad enough. But ten minutes later, in waltzed his best friend Greg with a Slurpee and a bag of burgers.

“You’re in labor, babe!” Michael said, as if this was some kind of all-day concert I was performing in. “He’s just here for a bit. We’ll be quiet.”

Before I could respond, another contraction hit like a freight train. I gasped. Greg awkwardly hovered.

“You sure this is okay?” he asked.

“She’s got hours left,” Michael replied, already clicking buttons.

At that exact moment, the universe decided I’d had enough.

Standing in the doorway were Michael’s parents, Margaret and Robert—there to surprise us.

Their eyes scanned the scene: the gaming setup, the Slurpee, the woman in labor being ignored by her snack-laden husband.

Margaret didn’t yell. She didn’t need to.

“Michael,” she said. “Outside. Now.”

Greg vanished. Michael blinked like he’d been yanked out of a cutscene. “Wait, Mom—”

“Now.”

The door closed behind them. I didn’t hear much, just Margaret’s hushed, firm tone cutting through the hallway like a blade.

Ten minutes later, Michael returned. Paler. Silent. Behind him, Robert picked up the Xbox and quietly said, “I’ll take this to the car.”

Michael unplugged the rest. Then he sat beside me, took my hand, and said, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m here now.”

And he was. He held my hand through every contraction. He brought me ice chips, rubbed my back, whispered encouragement. No more distractions.

Sixteen hours later, our daughter was born. And the man who once thought labor was something to game through cried when he held her.

Today, Michael is that dad. The one who wakes up at 3 a.m., who learned to swaddle better than I can, who canceled his Xbox Live subscription for more storage space on the baby monitor app.

Sometimes people don’t fully understand what they’re stepping into until they’re standing knee-deep in it. And sometimes, it takes a mom in labor and a mother-in-law with steel in her spine to make them see it.

But when they do? It changes everything.

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