Ante-natal Class
We just about make the 8pm start as there were a number of unscheduled but very necessary pee breaks. The first 40 minutes are spent advising us how to eat sensibly and which activities to avoid. As we would all appear to be in the third trimester, this well-meaning advice appears to be slightly late.
Can’t believe we’re all roughly 30 weeks or so. A couple of skinny malinks are trendily dressed in knee highboots and clingy numbers which emphasise their svelte volleyball bumps…and then there are those of us who appear genetically related to elephants or hippos. I am in awe that so many women have had the time and inclination to have applied make-up and accessorized their outfits with chokers, belts and cleverly tied scarves. I wonder if Trinny and Susannah are about to pop out behind a curtain and accuse me [with evidence] of violating fashion principles. When exactly did heavily pregnant women stop wearing sturdy sandals and oversized t-shirts?
The couples fascinate me. There are the trendies; the goody goodys, the know-alls;. I wonder how they are secretly classifying us …the scraggies? The dopes? The disorganized?
Then Eileen, our working midwife mentions ‘labour’ and the whole room awakens. It is as though she is a prophet and we are worshipping at her altar of knowledge. She produces a sock and a doll and graphically takes us through the journey down the birth canal. As she explains the concept of ‘crowning’ the doll stretches the ‘sock’ so much that I fear it will rip. I feel a shiver down my spine and I peer around the room. We are all experiencing sheer horror. Open mouths, saucer-wide eyes…or eyes wide shut and terrified. OK we had our suspicions that cabbage patch and stork stories would not stand up to scientific scrutiny… but the thought of labour is just too scary to consider. I put my fingers in my ears and sing lahlahlah to drown out the scary conversation around me.
We just about make the 8pm start as there were a number of unscheduled but very necessary pee breaks. The first 40 minutes are spent advising us how to eat sensibly and which activities to avoid. As we would all appear to be in the third trimester, this well-meaning advice appears to be slightly late.
Can’t believe we’re all roughly 30 weeks or so. A couple of skinny malinks are trendily dressed in knee highboots and clingy numbers which emphasise their svelte volleyball bumps…and then there are those of us who appear genetically related to elephants or hippos. I am in awe that so many women have had the time and inclination to have applied make-up and accessorized their outfits with chokers, belts and cleverly tied scarves. I wonder if Trinny and Susannah are about to pop out behind a curtain and accuse me [with evidence] of violating fashion principles. When exactly did heavily pregnant women stop wearing sturdy sandals and oversized t-shirts?
The couples fascinate me. There are the trendies; the goody goodys, the know-alls;. I wonder how they are secretly classifying us …the scraggies? The dopes? The disorganized?
Then Eileen, our working midwife mentions ‘labour’ and the whole room awakens. It is as though she is a prophet and we are worshipping at her altar of knowledge. She produces a sock and a doll and graphically takes us through the journey down the birth canal. As she explains the concept of ‘crowning’ the doll stretches the ‘sock’ so much that I fear it will rip. I feel a shiver down my spine and I peer around the room. We are all experiencing sheer horror. Open mouths, saucer-wide eyes…or eyes wide shut and terrified. OK we had our suspicions that cabbage patch and stork stories would not stand up to scientific scrutiny… but the thought of labour is just too scary to consider. I put my fingers in my ears and sing lahlahlah to drown out the scary conversation around me.
Special bloke nudges me when Eileen gets to the drugs section. ‘Scary bits over Daisy’. He’s quite used to me hiding behind cushions during horror movies, which he thinks is very funny. First of all Eileen spends a huge amount of time trying to convince us that the pain will be a ‘good’ pain and about the power of breathing and trusting our bodies. Now I have total respect for any woman prepared to do without drugs but I am not that brave.
Eileen introduces us to a natural pain relief method using a TENS machine. Eileen gives us a quick overview and asks for questions. A very studious girl raises her hand.’ I don’t follow how a tennis machine would help’. Eileen looks bemused and says TENS not TENNIS. She asks for a volunteer to demonstrate the TENS machine. All the girls shrivel and stare intently at the floor, while the guys relax back into their chairs, grinning. Eileen pounces on an unsuspecting lad and attaches a small contraption to his arm. The girls immediately spark back to life, giggling as this poor lad’s face takes on the pallor of an embalmed veteran. I am appalled at my black enjoyment at his discomfort .He positively jumps out of his seat as Eileen increases the vibrations.
Apparently the TENS provides great relief but our poor victim seemed very relieved when it was taken off his forearm. I resolve to hire a machine for labour. Eileen is thrilled that I am so positive about a natural pain relief method. She hugs me to her chest. Her new convert. I haven’t the heart to tell her that I fully intend to use every other pain relief method simultaneously including panadol, gas and air, pethedine and epidural! I always did like a well-mixed cocktail.
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