“So, if any of you are big fans of the g-string, I’d steer clear for a little while. I mean, birth is a messy business.” Welcome to antenatal class 101.
The fella and I are a little bit late to the game when it comes to antenatal classes. There was finishing up work before Christmas, Christmas itself, New Year’s, buying baby gear (I’m not quite ready to write about the trauma of this yet) and all that jazz to keep us busy before we even considered booking into for the antenatal classes.
So. At 35 weeks we find ourselves ensconced in the Education Centre of our chosen healthcare institution, with a midwife who rushed into the first class shouting “excuse my lateness lads – I have a really bad flu on me.” The fella tenses. In fact, the whole room tenses. Flu is the enemy of the pregnant woman. We ALL know this. And here is this woman, walking up and down the room, BREATHING HER GERMS ON US!
I decide, for the sake of the little fella, to get over myself and settle down to some good old fashioned learning. Which I anticipate (and have grilled the fella to expect) is a gory video of a woman screaming like the exorcist while giving birth to her baby. No. Not even close. It seems my midwife favours a more… organic way to show us the Miracle Of Birth.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when she pulled it out. I mean, what else would you reach for when demonstrating how a baby is born than a red turtleneck top? With SHORT SLEEVES. Still praying this is not what I think it is, she barrels on, grabs her trusty doll (extra bendy so it can navigate the squishy confines of the birth canal – oh dear JESUS) and shoves it, SHOVES IT, through the neck of the jumper. And that, my friends, is how a baby is born. Unfortunately she forgot her model of the pelvis this week… I can’t wait to see what we have to look forward to next week.
Things I have noticed about myself recently:
I am back to the crying, emotional mess of early pregnancy. All it takes is one person to to mention the baby, or how the bump is looking and it sends me into a tailspin. The fella has been weathering the storm of my hormones – and handling them magnificently well I might add.
After Christmas I freaked out when I realised that I was ACTUALLY GOING TO HAVE TO PUSH THIS BABY OUT OF ME. This meltdown lasted a few weeks. And it wasn’t pretty.
I am HUNGRY. And I can’t stop eating cake. Or making them. Which is a problem, as I spend most of my days on my own now that I’m on maternity leave, and I am expanding at a rate of knots. My fingers look like they belong to the hands of a fat suit. Not pretty.
My belly is hairy. Yes. You heard me. HAIRY. To add insult to my ever growing map of stretchmarks, of late, the whole belly has taken on a distinctly furry appearance. It’s grim, but according to Google it will go away after the little fella arrives. I’ve been compelled to depilate in the middle of the night but I’m going to hang tough and see what happens after the Miracle Of Birth happens.