Classy

Okay, so as I near my 6 month of pregnancy its time I start getting real about this whole impending labor and birth business. Now, I was really proactive about a month ago and hired a fantastic and much-sought-after doula, Susan. Amos is a little unsure about how Susan is going to be our labor super-hero, but I know that he will see the light when all is said and done. I did my hippie mommy duty and read Spiritual Midwifery and Ina May Gaskin's Guide to Childbirth. I am now officially on board with having a blissfully wonderful labor and delivery where Amos and I make out like teenagers the entire time and earth mothers surround me in light and love and the world is free of pain and Awesome looks up at me, immediately after I have birthed her with my own hands, and she silently mouths, "Thank you." And we are ONE in our naturally induced Oxytocin blissfullness. Its gonna happen. Because I read the books. Just watch.

But, first I gotta get my ass (and Amos's) into a childbirth class. And, for some reason, thats not so easy. A month ago, my midwife asked me, "So have you signed up for your birthing class yet?" "Oh, I'm just narrowing it down, I plan to really really soon," I reply. Flash forward, a month later, to today when I am sitting in her office and she asks me about it again, and this time, I lie. I say, with great confidence, "Oh, yeah. Totally. Signed up and ready to go!" "Oh." she replies, "Which one?" and then I proceed to tell her the name of a class I have been meaning to sign up for, but haven't. I lied to my midwife. That's got to be a cardinal sin of hippie mommy-dom.

So why haven't I signed up? Well, for starters, Amos and I have opposite and very packed schedules and it really hasn't been easy finding a class that meets at a time when we are both available. Another part of me dreads having something else added to my schedule- for nine weeks. And another part of me is stressed that the class will suck and I will feel compelled to stick it out and suffer (as is my nature when I am taking a class), even though its cheesy and/or boring and/or exhausting, and I will be dragging Amos down with me, because we have to take a class to be good parents and have a good birth experience. Amos hears the word class and instantly thinks of sneaking off and smoking in the boys room and I think of pleasing the teacher and getting an A+.

The last time I convinced Amos to accompany me on something that was reminiscent of school it was the U of L Graduate Dance. (Yes, I made him go). I thought it would be like prom and we would be Queen and King and we would slow dance to Whitney Houston and my high school dreams would come true. In reality, the band sucked, there was a two-drink maximum, and Amos got busted filling his 5 dollar coke with bourbon from his flask in the bathroom and watched as the rent-a-cop poured his Old Forester down the drain. Amos then spent the rest of the night sulking in his chair and I was mad at him for not buying me a corsage. In other words, high school all over again. Good times. At least I looked cute.

So now its back to school for us, and I just need to bite the bullet and we will survive. And we will graduate. And feel more prepared, because that's what these classes do. Everyone I know who took the classes in Louisville recommended them and said they were so glad they did (even the fathers said this). So we gotta do it. Pronto.

And now that I lied to our midwife, I have to sign up, basically, tomorrow, so I won't be lying anymore. Because lying to someone who will know you very intimately is not a good idea.

Anyhoo, here is the week 23 picture:



I look like a liar, don't I?


Dear Little Bear,

This week, Papa brought Rosco to visit me at school. He brought along a very yummy picnic of sushi (cooked fish for me, raw for him), french bread, fancy cheeses, avocado and chocolate. Delicious. We ate outside in the middle of campus and Rosco did what he does best. Chase squirrels. Papa hopes that you will like hunting squirrels as much as he and Rosco do.

I have really been liking feeling you kick away, but its time you kick Papa in the face. I think he'd like it. He talks to you and you get very still. I know his voice is deep and soothing, that's why Mama loves him so much, but he would really love it if you gave him a little tap, so that he knows your listening. Just a suggestion.

Keep dancing.

Papa and I love you very much.

Love,

Mama