Bounce me on the birthing ball, baby!

When I was pg with big sister, hubby and I attended birthing classes at Wesley's birthing center. There were several couples, including a former newscaster, a teen that brought her mom and then the rest of us. I seemed to be in due the latest category. There was actually a couple that would finish a couple of days before the due date. All in all, a pretty boring group. Our instructor didn't even have kids, which I thought was odd. How can you teach what you have never done? I guess her 20 odd years of being a labor and delivery nurse gave her an advantage that none of us pre-mommies had.

After the requisite intro's, we jumped right in to, "Giving Birth, for Dummies." I really didn't need to know how I got pg, I think I had already figured that out. So, aside from the sperm meets the egg story, I was ready to tackle breathing and questioning how much my lower extremities would be hurting after I delivered a baby.

All kidding aside, we pre-mommies were scared as hell and wondering if we should just throw in the sterilized towel. We bounced on balls, laid in odd positions, and inhaled/exhaled to calming music in the dark. Our husbands fell asleep, letting us figure out how to get off the dang floor. All in all, it was 6 weeks of pure hell. I'm glad that my hubby got some sleep but I am worried about this kid that is going to shoot out of me and leave me not being able to pee without wanting to kill someone. I was especially thrilled to think about this thing called episiotomy. Where can I get one? Maybe I don't want one. My OB/GYN was cool and asked me what I wanted, for birth plan purposes. Give me drugs and bring my husband closer so I can slap him while cursing his name. That should be enough and did I mention the drugs? I have friends that have their babies at home, no drugs, no doc, just a husband to swear at, I'm kidding about the last part. I am proud of these women, I'm just not one of them. I would love to see these women in action. I don't want to know what I would be like in action. I'm sure that I would be crying, screaming and in general, just pissy. Of course, I would be pleased that I had a wonderful little baby in my arms, however, I am a big wimp.

Towards the end of the class, when we knew what sex our future babies were, we were asked to share the names we chose. As we made the rounds, I had to stifle my practically roaring laughter. One couple was planning Rusty Dale Earnhardt Petty, or something similar. The teen girl thought that Eowyn Inez was the way to go. It was a way, but... I'm not knocking the names just wondering if their children will go on to become NASCAR drivers or a beautiful elves?!?! And, yes, I know Eowyn was of the race of Men, but how interesting does that sound? Eowyn was a beautiful woman? Boring...

Sad to say, as nice and comfortable as the birth center was, I had to have a C section in the crappy main hospital. No bouncing on the big ball, no Enya humming in the background, no slapping my beloved husband for getting me knocked up. Instead, I couldn't eat or drink for 8 hours, had a nurse miss nearly every vain I had, drank some fizzy stuff and was stuck in the back so I wouldn't feel pain. No screaming or swearing, just chatter about the puffy shirt episode of Seinfeld. After a couple of minutes, the cleaned up tiny girl was handed to me, wrapped like a burrito wearing a hat. Welcome to the world, Dorcas Latifah.