Class

Here's Julie just before we left for our first parenting class. She's at 31 weeks, which means that sometime in the next 9 weeks, we'll probably become parents. I say probably because it's still surreal.

But parenting class, boy, now that was a remarkable experience. We arrived late, which probably foreshadows the birth itself. The first 90 minutes of the class were utterly worthless. The instructor informed us that we would be having "babies" because we were "pregnant" and that this "class" would prepare us for the "birth." I think I got that right; I was writing so furiously that my paper started to sweat.

We also learned all about our instructor's three births. Mickey was a stinker; he just wouldn't come out! And wouldn't you know, he's a stubborn widdle boy to this day. Then Jamie, well Jamie popped right out like he couldn't wait to meet the world, and on and on and on. We listened politely and learned nothing.

But all sarcasm aside, it was nice to get the tour of the birthing room. And walking by the check-up room where Julie and I spent almost six hours last Sunday made us feel like veterans.

Then came the video of the birth. Oh God. They say childbirth is beautiful, and I suppose if it's your own kid, it might approach beauty on some primal or existential level. What Julie and I realized, however, is that no matter how graceful the mother, no matter how smooth the labor, there is a point at which she becomes a barnyard animal, grunting and snorting, neighing and whinnying. And then you get a baby and after awhile you go home.

I could go into more detail about the video, I suppose, but I'm not in the mood right now. Still traumatized. If you want to rent this video at Blockbuster, I'm guessing you'll be out of luck. But if it's there, you'll find it in the NC-17 horror section.