Going to Class

This week, Leah and I strapped on our virtual backpack, got in our little Honda bus (okay, it's an Accord, but stick with my analogy here), and went over to the soon-be-birthplace of our little bundle of joy. Only this time, we were preparing for said event by starting a 4-week session called Preparation for Childbirth.

I really didn't know what to expect, save for the awe-inspiring reality film clip of childbirth that Joe had warned me about. We got there about 15 minutes early, and verified the location with the Info desk person. The main reason for that was that the instructions we were given when we registered involved going through some doors that said "Authorized Personnel Only." Being the law-abiding type, I decided to make sure I was correct before I walked through there, alarms sounded, the floor dropped out from under me, and I was surround by hospital snipers in scrubs with AK-47's pointed at my wife's belly. Anyway, info-girl told me that the room had been changed, but while Leah was visiting the little girl's room, I noticed a sign that said "Childbirth Class One" pointed toward the closed doors with the snipers behind them. So I approached info-blonde again, and she informed me that there were TWO classes going on, and she had incorrectly assumed that I was inquiring about the OTHER one. So we headed throug the double doors, and hoped for the best.

The room was pretty full--probably 6 couples in there already. We were number 7, and of course, everybody always spreads out, and NOBODY, unless there's some really convincing reason, sits in the front row. But we couldn't avoid it. Oh well, we'll just sit up there, smile, and maybe be the teachers pet. Er, pets. Another couple came in, toting 3 pillows with them. Dorks. I thought they were just being premature suck-ups, but apparently we WILL need pillows in later sessions, but the people might've been told wrong by the folks they talked to to sign up. They still looked like dorks, cause nobody else had them.

Of course, in all settings such as this, you are obligated to participate in some cheesy icebreaker which involves interviewing your neighbor. We teamed with with Scout and Rebecca, who live downtown, are having a girl in late October, and met in Nashville. And Scout is here in Memphis going to school to be, of all things, a pediatrician. So methinks that Rebecca might not do much these days, or is planning to sit at home, keep the baby, watch Oprah, and ask Scout what time she should have dinner ready. Oh yeah, and tell him that the fuel is low in her BMW convertible. They were really nice folks, and we probably have more in common with them than any other couple in the room. And they're thinking about using the same pediatric group as us, so who knows--we might bump into them in the weekend sick clinic one day. The "interesting couple award" goes to a young couple who said that their boy would be named Ron Lennon, because Ron is the baby's grandfather's first name, and dad likes the Beatles. "It'll be funny, but also kinda cool," was his statement. Oh brother.

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful. Basic anatomy of ligaments and stuff that might cause momma some pain, as well as discussions about effacement and dialation and colorful little schoolroom charts on the wall. Interesting fact for the night: You always hear about someone's water breaking in the grocery store, or at the ball game, but care to take a guess what percentage of women's water actually breaks natually like that (vs being done by a doc at the hospital, with his little tool)? Give up? To find the answer, look all the way at the bottom and turn your monitor upside down. Just kidding--only 25%. That's right--3 out of 4 women have their water broken by the doc, and prevent that annoying "Cleanup on aisle 4!" intercom call at Wal Mart.

That's about it. Next time we'll get into more heavy duty stuff, I'm guessing. And remember those pillows? We get to play with them in class number 3 and 4.