Oh, boy. Last night Una and I had our first birthing class. No - it was not the infamous video session (in fact, sneaky teacher didn't say when we'd be watching it, so the two of us could conveniently be sick with food poisoning that evening). It was actually very helpful, especially when Instructor Amy informed the gentlemen/"partners" that their job was to do whatever we wanted, which may involve back massages or 'getting out of one's sight,' based on pain, amount of time between contractions, and level of extreme rage. I confirmed the importance of this statement with a highly arched eyebrow. Only to observe Una completely oblivious and finishing off a pack of fluorescent orange cheese and crackers from the hospital vending machine. I think I'll have to ask Instructor Amy to repeat this statement. Every class.
We ended with practice breathing, wherein I ignored the assignment and took a baby nap. I'm smack in the middle of the expectant mothers' due dates, with one cutting it a tad close (due in 7 weeks) and another preparing for her identical twin daughters in early July.
Holy Christmas.
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