Laboring

At 5:30 PM, my Mom picked us up from Extended Day. At 6:30 we were shoveling plates of linguini with clam sauce in our mouths. And at 6:45, my Mom, still dressed in her power suit, and I were on our way back to my grade school to attend an after school meeting entitled, 'Becoming a Woman.' It was a mandatory mother-daughter session for all fourth graders at my school. The boys had to go to their own version of evening awkwardness in fifth grade - when they were a little more mature.

Mrs. Goetz, our hostess for the night, encouraged everyone to sit in the first three rows of the auditorium. I sat front and center; my Mom was to my right, my best friend Katy was to my left. The screen came down, I heard the projection machine warming up, Mrs. Goetz made some introductory remarks, and with that the audio visual part of the program started. About five minutes into the presentation, an enormous picture of the male anatomy filled the thirty foot screen. I turned to Katy, who had simultaneously turned to look at me, and we both started laughing hysterically while our moms shushed us into some semblance of maturity. The giggles didn't stop though. They were my uncontrollable form of embarrassment / discomfort / shock relief, aided only by the Giant Eagle chocolate chip cookies that Mrs. Goetz was passing around.

Besides opening our eyes to a topic that had previously been avoided in many of our households, the goal seemed to be to ease the minds of the one or two early bloomers in my class, and to let them know where Mrs. Goetz kept her secret stash of tampons. As a much later bloomer, my takeaway was to always look for solace in big cookies and laughter when presented with something as uncomfortable as a mammoth urethra. 

***

On Sunday, while watching in all its graphic glory, an Asian and a hillbilly with the worst stretch marks ever painfully expel babies from their bodies then receive bloody little bundles of joy on their chests, I had a flash back to my introductory course on womanhood. Except this time, there were no cookies and the visuals were so disturbing that I actually ended up closing my eyes through parts of the presentation.

I did find the chance here and there to giggle away the discomfort though. The awkward, note-taking, scientific question-asking partner (not husband, just partner) of the woman who came to class in her pajamas, and whose happy place was Branson, Missouri provided ample opportunity for stress relief. And thankfully Peter's commentary made the giggles turn to full on hysterics by the end of the class.

Honestly, despite the up close and personal shots of babies crowning, it was a very informative class and I feel a lot more confident, knowing what to expect. I also came away with many more valuable lessons than I did in the fourth grade:

1. Labor, and delivery for that matter, is definitely going to suck.  
2. Nurse, it's great that you keep the Popsicles in there, but why are you stocking your unit with my husband's favorite snack instead of mine? 
3. For the first time ever, I think I'm going to have control of the air waves, and show tunes will be blaring as my means of relaxation. H-e-l-l-o Dolly! 
4. I will make sure to go to the bathroom several times at home before going into 'transition' in the hospital. I refuse to be part of the soiling stat that they shared.
5. I'm thinking that I won't want to do all the paper work associated with getting an epidural, so that option might be out. 
6. I by no means want to see the baby actually leaving my body. And for that matter, I want Peter up by head the whole time.
7. It would be great if the doctor cleaned up the baby before putting it on my chest. 
8. I do not want to examine the placenta like it's a Morton's steak. I'm sure it's fine. 
9. I can do this.

When we were driving home through the icy rain, never did the staunch words of Auntie Mame ring more true in my ears. I most definitely needed a little Christmas. And now! So to take my mind off thoughts of the cute little girl bouncing around in my stomach having to come out from her secure hiding place someday, we put on Christmas records and finished decorating our house for the season.

I even got to open my first Christmas present. Straight from Seattle and her book signing tour, our friend, Jess, sent me her very own cookbook, Dishing Up Washington. We used it immediately.

I started feeling a lot better. But that evening, as Peter and I sat under the tree, looking up at the memories captured in our collection of ornaments, the twinkle of the tinsel, and the soft glow of the lights, Peter said, I wish she could see it.
Aw, I do too. 
Which means I'm going to have to push her out. But the pain will be so worth it.

Lo.

Recipes for simple baked chicken, roasted beans, and carrots can be found in Jess Thomson's new cookbook, 'Dishing Up Washington.'