‘Twas kinda weird. I mean, there’s this room full of uncomfortable ladies who all look like we’ve swallowed basketballs, perched on these teeny, tiny torture-like chairs for hours at a time, listening to someone tell us about breathing and kegels and the nutritional value of spinach. The respective partners of said women, for the most part, squirmed and looked vaguely disquieted. Plus, the class starts in the late evening…and I didn’t eat first. I wasn’t paying attention to the fact that each class lasts 2.5 hours…so I was starving by the time it was over.
I swear, the only thing that stopped there from being a Donnor incident was that the instructor showed films that were easily as icky as the stuff you had to watch in drivers ed. Bleh!
So, pretty much I learned that you can’t show up at the hospital, be hit on the head with a mallet and be awoken when your hairdresser and the baby get there. Apparently, there is some discomfort and messy bits…and they want you to be conscious for it.
I, of course, blame