The short description for the 2.5 hour Baby Basics class indicated an instructional session to learn about swaddling, diapering, and general do’s and don’ts for first-time parents.
We walked through the hospital doors as I commented that I wouldn’t mind my husbands company at the upcoming b-feeding class just in case I couldn’t remember all of the information. Then he asked if we’d have to see someone’s actual chest. I scoffed, “of course not!” How inappropriate. I was sure they had other ways of instructing. No one would volunteer to have their chesticles on video display.
We sat in our seats and surveyed the room. Five couples, each with a dummy baby, swaddling blanket, cap, and outfit. I scoped out the snack table and grabbed some s’mores chewy bars and a Sprite. At about that time, classmates began asking pregnancy questions of the instructor ‘at random.’ One asking about the amount of sugar in soda and how it could affect the baby (literally as I was drinking it). I was already in pregnancy hell- being judged for my motherly tendencies. It was all I could do to not also publicly ask the question about maintaining a healthy weight as I was at least 75 lbs less than the non-soda-drinkers in the room, but I tried to harness my inner WWJD and instead decided to expel my sinful thoughts onto this blog.
The instructor kicked off the class with a 15 minute video, where we found out that this was a class where they would not only show someone’s chest (really? in the diapering class?), but nearly the whole enchilada. And why, I kept wondering in my too sober state, why was it necessary to have both boobs out when the child only nursed off of one. It was natural geographic at its finest, showcasing boobs from around the world- not an ethnicity or color left undiscovered.
I had failed my husband so miserably I could do nothing but laugh until they all decided I was too immature to be having a baby.
The next half hour was spent on a list of questions addressed to the group, whereby the instructor would read a statement and ask us to go around and respond, “mom,” “dad.” or “both.”
Question 1: “I am worried about driving with the baby in the car.”
Well, this was stupid to me. How else were we expected to take the baby anywhere? The rest of the room piped up with paranoid parents (they fell into the “both” category) insisting that there were so many crazy drivers out there, that they’d rather keep their baby at their house, etc. We looked at each other in disbelief. I must just be too trusting of our crazy world.
Question 2 was interrupted by a voluntary statement from the woman across the room. She looked up in despair while her husband looked forlornly down in the direction of her belly, avoiding any eye contact with the room. “Well,” she stammered, “I’m just….I’m just worried he’s afraid I’m going to forget about him.” Her slight nod indicated she was referencing her husband.
I leaned into mine and whispered, “that guy just lost his pants about a 1/2 mile back.”
The rest of the room chimed in to support her and assure it wouldn’t happen. I thought this was a bad idea as it looked kind of like it already was happening.
When we left our group therapy (ahem, class), I veto-ed the idea of bringing my spouse to b-feeding. I didn’t need anyone else in our house over-sensitized to global assets or the male-version of an emotional breakdown.