Give me morning sickness or back labor, but there's no way I'm going back to birthing class. My first pregnancy was a breeze — the excitement of an impending baby and an ignorance that was bliss.
My days prior to motherhood didn't involve reading up on the latest autism statistics or bisphenol A scares. But I was a tad worried that the pain of childbirth would be similar to the sensation someone feels when eaten by a shark so I signed up for a birthing class.
For $350, my husband and I bought admission into the one day intensive labor prep our hospital offered. Armed with a small pad of paper, two pens and a sense of preparedness, we were shocked to find that other couples had set up camp in the sterile room.
The flier said to bring things to make ourselves comfortable, which is why I wore sweats, but these people practically pitched tents. They had laid their sleeping bags on the floor and packed enough snacks to get them through a natural disaster. To top it off, some husbands were in their pajamas.
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