Last week my father, who is a pathologist by trade, shared a little of himself and told me that when he was entering medical school, his intention was to pursue a degree in the field of gynecology. Dad is as generous and thoughtful and brilliant as any man on earth, but when it comes to understanding the emotional anatomy of a member of the opposite sex, he has about as much skill as a Texas ranger tuning a piano.
Sound effects are the first problem here.
This may be reaching a bit, but I think gynecologists and obstetricians have to actually listen to women instead up turning up the volume on the remote control. When Mother sallies down a rhetorical path that might ruffle his feathers a bit, he simply nods and smiles with affection. The next issue is confrontation. Menstruation is a four-letter word, and tears are only appropriate when one misses the green by at least 600 yards or the dog swallows one of this brand new balls. Sweat is pouring down her neck faster than the first thaw above Niagara Falls, and she is delivering a baby the size of an abscessed bowling ball.