A Week Lost, and Parenting Class

Yesterday, our pregnancy got a week shorter. We went to see the OB/GYN, and when he called the receptionist to confirm our inducing date, he said “Oh...Oh, really...OK...OK. I'll call you back in a minute.” On his way out to her desk, he quickly explained to us that he'd switched his On-Call days with another Dr. Looking at his altered schedule, he decided that we'd go in to be induced on the 20th – a week sooner than we expected.

Yup, we just shat ourselves.

In four days, we'll see it on our Weather Network's long-range forecast. When looking at the calendar, I was shocked how close it really was, and thought I might be sick. Apparently not; got the dog excited for nothing. But at least our families are excited. We are too, it's just different. We're going in pretty blind, and they're telling us what we're in for. Most of them are teasing us pretty badly, until our faces lose all color. Then they find seats for us, and get more reassuring.

Then, last night, we got to go to our first birthing class. It was at the hospital, so we got there 45 mins early to give us lots of get-lost time. (not an Alzheimer's-friendly lay out) So there we are, the scene where our life will change in 19 short days, reading the free parenting magazines they gave us (Swear to God – there was an article on how dads can use diaper-changing as a bonding experience, though I think this Pampers-produced publication may have a slant), jittery as all hell. I was afraid to say much, because in that state, whatever I said wouldAllComeOutInOneLoudBurstInOneLongWord! And as I've mentioned, I can be a nervous-laugher, and here I am, going into a class heavily-peppered with “Discharge” and “Vagina.” I was fine until the nurse spoke of the mucous plug discharging, and another dad-to-be made a popping noise. Bastard. Think I'll see if he wants to grab a beer sometime. The good news is that she covered, very thoroughly, a lot of what Andrea & I already knew, making it one lo-o-ong two hours, pretty much dissipating our jitters.

They did have the dreaded video. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected, based on something I'd lingered on while channel-surfing; I was curious, until I saw the crowning. “Oh Shit!” I exclaimed, “It looks like her **** is blowing a bubble!” and promptly surfed on. (the **** wasn't the dreaded “C-Word,” but it still wasn't very polite.) This video was a VHS, and looked & sounded like the old reel-to-reel's we watched in school in the 80's and before. The poor baby looked like it was covered in Milk of Magnesia. (a syrupy version of chalk) Only one more class, though, so, worst case scenario, another two hours lost. Maybe I'll bring my novel notes, and we can sit in the back, alternating between that and X's & O's, maybe pass notes like a couple of high-schoolers. (C'mon, Baby, we only have a couple weeks to be childish!)