Holy Cow, You Just Crapped Yourself!

We went to an 8-hour birthing class Saturday. We chose the 8-hour version rather than parcel it up into several classes. I hated to give up a Saturday because my Saturdays are usually so full of naps and TV, but I’m willing to sacrifice for my baby!

They tell you to show up with two pillows and a blanket. I immediately pull out the biggest, thickest comforter I can find. I figure I am going to be on the floor all day and I want to be comfortable. My wife says no. We’re taking a thin little throw we have hanging over the couch. I feel my knees and back start to ache.

As we walk in from the hospital parking lot, we see other people carrying two pillows. I say  to them, “Looks like we are going to the same place.” If I have to spend eight hours in a class, I should at least make friends. They smile and walk the other way. Not to a different place…they just choose to take a different route to the same place. So much for friends.

The first hour is about nutrition. They want to show the moms how to eat right in their third trimester. They talk a lot about portion sizes. A good serving of hamburger is the size of your palm. Not your hand. Your PALM. I think even a McDonald’s hamburger is bigger than your palm, and I am pretty sure I could eat 12 of them in one sitting.

All the while, my wife is glaring at me. This room is filled with 20-something men with pretty hard bodies. I am 20 years older than the youngest guys! I do get lucky and spy one guy who looks like the Michelin Man. I, on the other hand, look like a fat Pillsbury Dough Boy. I know what my wife is thinking.

When I finally say, about 20 minutes into it, “this is really boring,” she snaps, “You should be paying attention to this!” I respond, “Honey, it is not that I don’t know how to eat and what to eat, it is that I don’t follow the rules. I’m not learning anything new here. I just like a meal that is bigger than the size of a quarter.”

The next part is two nurses telling you what the birthing experience is going to be like. This takes up the rest of your day. A nice lady with a quiet voice starts out explaining what you are going to learn and talking about how she is a “doula” and she coaches women through delivery. I immediately turn to my wife and say, “How much do you think a doula costs?” She says, “Absolutely not. That is YOUR job.”

The second nurse gets up and the first thing she says is, “I’m the nasty one. I’m just plain old nasty.” Now immediately the Prince song about Nikki goes running through my head...I knew a girl named Nikki, I guess you could say she was a sex fiend. Met her in a hotel lobby… Not sure why that song is associated with the word nasty in my mind, but, in all honesty, nasty is not a bad thing with me.

Well, to the nurse, and probably every woman in the room – there might have been a few guys thinking like me – “nasty” meant we were going to hear and see some pretty gross things the rest of the day. And we did. We saw a baby being born. Not the beautiful experience they make it out to be if it is not YOUR kid. Then a placenta being passed. Guys, this looks like a fully-engorged cow udder emerging from your wife’s most private parts. Very sexy.

And we learn how she might poop herself during delivery. Ms. Nasty tells us that it is up to us guys to totally ignore this so the wife doesn’t even know it happened. In other words, don’t say something like, “God, it stinks in here.” Or, as I’d be more likely to say, “Holy cow, you just crapped yourself.” Got it, Ms. Nasty.

Most of the class was about breathing and massaging and how you are supposed to spend hours helping your wife. But then they show you the room with a television in it. Talk about mixed messages.

They tell you that when contractions are one minute long and five minutes apart, you’ll want to call your doctor. Some docs will have you come in then, others will tell you to wait about an hour and call back. Call back in an hour? Are you kidding me? I told my wife if our doc was one who said call back, we would be calling back from the parking lot of the hospital. I want to be THERE when this baby starts to come out.

The men primarily remained silent all day. I was brave enough to ask one question. “What is the average time between when contractions are one minute long and five minutes apart and delivery?” Ms. Nasty takes that one, with a devilish smile. “About 18 to 20 hours on average.”

Oh joy.

All in all, I learned little in the class that I didn’t know from watching a gazillion hours of television. I’m pretty confident I could deliver this baby in the backseat of my Honda Pilot – while I am driving. And maybe even eating a sandwich.