Comfortably Numb

Over the last month or so, I have become more relaxed. More at ease. As each day would begin, I pretty much knew what to expect from my wife and from myself. That was, until the other night when Tracy said;

“Honey. Don’t forget. We have Lamaze class tonight.”

“Great! Who is Lamar and what is he teaching?”

“Just be ready to leave at 7 o’clock.”

The actual name of the class is Childbirth and Parenting and we were told to bring 2 pillows and a blanket. The class begins and I am immediately unnerved as I look around the room at all of the protruding paunches. Adding to my anxiety, the teacher asks us to greet the couple to our left and introduce each other. I quickly realized that any thoughts I had on how this evening would go were severely misguided.

I pictured that we would arrive in class; a few pleasantries would be exchanged, the teacher would smile and answer a few questions, perhaps bring me some tea and a cinnamon scone. Boy, was I wrong.

First off, she hands us a stack of literature that could choke a brontosaurus. Magazines, pamphlets, leaflets and handouts. We even received these bra sponges you use in case your boobs leak. I kid you not. This starts to overwhelm me and I can feel my nerves fraying one by one.

Next, the couple to my left starts having these snickering fits every time the teacher says the word breast. Um, guys. You’re having a kid. Shouldn’t you be past the “hee-hee, the teacher said a naughty word” phase of life?

And then, it gets worse. Considerably worse. Less than an hour into class, the teacher has already popped in “the video”. This was not on the syllabus! I was figuring the video wouldn’t be shown until the last class. And I planned to ditch that day. I just met all of these people 45 minutes ago and suddenly we are all huddled together watching a placenta heaved from some stranger woman’s vagina?! (Better not say vagina in front of the giggle twins)

At this point I am visibly shaken. I took our blanket, the one we were required to bring, and wrapped it around my shoulders for comfort as I tried to find a happy place inside. The video progresses into describing a series of unsettling medical terms. I know a “mucus plug” is, in fact, actually a plug of mucus but can we not come up with some euphemistic description? Something like, I don’t know, squishy baby stopper would be a little less graphic-image inducing. The squishy baby stopper sounds like a little saturated foam pillow keeping the baby in place. Ah, nice.

I tried to repress these images but one in particular keeps replaying over and over like when Marsha Brady got hit in the nose with the football. (Ow, my nose! Mom always said don’t play ball in the house). They showed this woman in mid-push looking down between her legs to see the baby’s head, while the rest of its body was still inside her. Good Christ! I can’t even look at my elbow if I scrape it playing hockey. With any luck, I’ll contract an unexpected case of scurvy or whooping cough so I can be excuse from this week’s class.