Preparing For A Baby... Or Another Heated Argument

Tonight was (thankfully) our last birthing class at the hospital where I'll soon be giving birth. This is good because I think if we had a fifth two-hour class we wouldn't have made it through without my punching my husband in the face for his lack of attention and inappropriate comments.

I signed the two of us up for the Prepared Childhood Class at the hospital because it teaches all aspects of childbirth, including the phases of labor and delivery.

I got so much out of the class. We learned about relaxation exercises, breathing techniques, and comfort measures. Along with that, the dozen couples in the class and I were given detailed description of all phases of labor and birth, including medical interventions, anesthesia and options for labor, as well as a birth video. I learned so much about my body and what to expect that I'm not sure what I'd have done without the class and the "Gift of Motherhood" birthing book I was given.

In addition, during the third week of the class, we were given a tour of the obstetrical department so we could see the rooms that we'd labor and deliver in as well as the nursery and recovery rooms.

I should have known, however, that this was not going to be a simple, easy, enjoyable experience because I was well aware ahead of time that my husband did not want to be there. He had agreed to go, but because he would rather have been almost anywhere else, he made sure that I knew that regularly during the entire class.

Though I tried to concentrate on what the instructor was saying, my train of thought would constantly be interrupted when I'd feel a light tapping on my shoulder followed by my husband's saying something along the lines of, "Is she going to talk about all 16 of those images on that poster?" Or, "How do you think that guy over there got that hot of a wife?"

This was all before he'd make a mockery of the relaxation exercises the instructor was teaching us by acting like he didn't know how to slightly lift each of my limbs to see if they were heavy and thus relaxed. (He said he refused to fully participate in the relaxation exercises first because "they were stupid" and second because he is confident in his abilities to relax me and doesn't need instructions on how to do so.) (Don't tell him I tend to agree with him on this part.)

After the obnoxious loud exhaling at the fact that the class would run a few minutes past 9 p.m., he'd tell me that he spent the majority of the past two hours staring at some of the other women's breasts or daydreaming of it being 9 p.m. and thus the end of class.

This was always right before the inevitable irrational argument about something we learned in class that the emotional mother in me would bring up - like the fact that I need Brent to go with our son up to the nursery to get his first bath while I'll be stuck in the recovery room because of my fear that he'll be switched at birth, and Brent's reply of something other than "Whatever you want, honey."

But then he'll say something like "effaced" or "dilation" and I'll smile a little, knowing that at least some of the information must have permeated into his brain while he was seemingly absentmindedly checking out the other knocked up chicks.

Guess we'll see in the labor and delivery room!