NOLA Notes

Three hours of Lamaze, 30 minutes on the phone with a doula, and two hours of a prenatal class since Monday evening have left my brain mush–most thoughts are baby-related. Captain Sarcastic and I are exhausted.

CS complained when we got to Lamaze that he’d forgotten his water gun. He had threatened to bring it because the first class showed two films of births that were quite moist, and at one point a classmate jumped when a squirt of liquid followed the baby’s head in a delivery scene. CS had planned to shoot water at these moments in the movies to give our classmates the full effect.

Then, instead of following the instructor and coaching me to “blow out the candle across the room,” CS instead coached me to blow him. This was at a time when I was doing the “he-he-he breathing” and making that face my cat makes when she smells something weird for the first time or is just about to yak.

If there was anyone else I trusted anywhere near as much as CS that I would feel comfortable with in the delivery room, I’d fire him as my coach. And my friends are no help. I get a lot of, “you knew he was a wise guy when you married him.” True; I did. But what did Sun do to deserve this? Ugh.