Up until recently I've worried more about breastfeeding Em Dash than the actual childbirth portion of the whole process. I hear/watch/read way more about the obstacles of breastfeeding than labor issues, hence its priority in the worry-list.
I mean, really, I just go in, huff and puff a bit, ask for some meds and poof! Out comes Em Dash! ....Right? RIGHT?
Nah, probably not so simple.
Last night was the first of our two-part "prepared childbirth" class at our hospital. While I pride myself on soaking up all the pregnancy/labor/childcare knowledge I can get my grubbly little hands on, I still came away with some interesting childbirth info that I hadn't heard before, such as the huge majority of women who VOMIT during labor (especially during c-sections) because of the pressure on your stomach. And the whole process when the baby turns to face your left or right hip to get its oval head to fit through your oval pelvis. And the three stages of labor with the first stage divided into three mini-stages. Oy vay.
We practiced some techniques to get us through painful contractions. Oh, and she taught our "labor partners" how to massage our legs without annoyance. Sweet!
Overall I enjoyed the class, except for the part where I wanted to punch some of the other parents.
[Warning: uncharacteristic rant ahead]
Similar to how cats seem to know I'm allergic to them and get joy out of rubbing all up on me, I always seem to attract the I-like-to-talk-at-inappropriate-times folks, no matter the situation. To our right was the guy who continued to chat with his wife through the entire three-hour course, asking the instructor obnoxious questions all along the way and making comments about other people's comments or questions. Oh, and with a Bluetooth headset on and in his ear THE ENTIRE TIME. Really? You're THAT important? I don't think so.
The couple to our left couldn't stop giggling. We were supposed to "work through our contraction" yet they continuously burst into laughter, which caused others to laugh (not us). When the instructor asked what was so funny, they had no answer.
Then there was the guy who insisted on fishing out the last teeny tiny crumb from his mini bag of Lay's potato chips. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle went the bag. Annoying.
Lastly, there was the woman, whom we guess was from some European country. She continued to ask about vaginal deliveries of breech babies, even though her baby isn't breech and the instructor explained again and again that she's be hard-pressed to find a doctor in our hospital or our country who would take the liability of delivering a breech baby vaginally. You could tell the instructor was understandably annoyed when she had to explain for the second or third time that it wasn't going to happen. Ugh.
She showed a couple delivery videos, and there were the few 30-somethings-going-on-5 guys who busted out into, "Ewwwws!" and "Gross!" when they showed the actual birth. Um, did you think your baby was going to come out your wife's ear? Or do you really believe that a stork drops off your nice, clean baby?
And because our class was annoyingly chatty during inopportune moments and wasn't taking the breathing exercises seriously, the instructor did something she said she normally doesn't do -- she gave us HOMEWORK. Thanks a lot, Chatty Charlies and Chatty Cathies. The assignments are very minimal, truthfully, and probably helpful, but still! It's like the entire class skipping recess because Wayne the Pain couldn't keep his trap shut. So not fair.
Of the 18 couples in the class, we learned during the intros that two of them aren't finding out if it's a boy or a girl, two of them are having boys and the remaining 14 couples are having girls! The instructor said it's not often that there's an overwhelming majority of one of the other.
And if it turns out that any of those kids are in Em Dash's classes, I may not let them play together because THEIR PARENTS HAVE NO MANNERS.
"And also, Phyllis, Stanley says that you cry too much and that bugs him." - Michael, The Office
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