Jordan and I started our birthing class last night (don't worry, I'll spare the gory details)....
The nurse was teaching our coaches (note: husbands, in most cases) different pain management techniques like breathing patterns and massages. She was "simulating" contractions throughout the exercise, which basically translated into screaming and yelling in pain to note the rise and fall of each contraction. It was extremely stressful. In order to find out which technique was most comforting, each exercise was followed by the question, asked by our coach, "Did you like that?" All I wanted to say was, "Lady, PLEASE stop screaming in fake pain and for the love of GOD please stop telling my husband to blow in my face."
Don't get me wrong, I'm completely grateful for all the information.. but when I'm not in labor, please don't blow in my face or stroke my eyebrows, okay?
I received quite the confidence boost, seeing all the other pregnant ladies in their ratty sweat pants and Army tee shirts, carrying pillows with dirty pillow cases (FOR SHAME). The girl next to me whispered to her husband that my pillow smelled good. I wanted to lean over and say "..it's clean." I was feeling quite cute in my maternity leggings, glitter Toms and planet-awareness v-neck tee. It isn't very often a woman feels cute at almost 36 weeks pregnant, so it was momentous and therefore blog-worthy.
