DeadpanAnn (old blogger version)

The childbirth class wasn't as blog worthy as I had hoped. The lady who taught it was likeable, and the subject matter-- and even the way it was presented-- was entirely predictable. (Drugs are good, epidurals are your friend, absolutely nothing unsafe ever takes place in a maternity ward, let the nurse do her job, and remember that doctors know best.) The only things that stood out were a few other students, and even they weren't really anything special. We did watch an entertaining video, and a big, tough-looking black dude seated next to us took a break from texting on his cell phone long enough to gag at the part when the woman in the video pushed out the placenta. (It was nasty.)

Probably the most memorable moment was the look on Tim's face when the lady said, "It's time for you to be packing your bag for the hospital." Kinda hit home, I guess.

After the class was over, we got the tour of their maternity ward, which consisted of being lead to a birthing room where we stood around and looked for about five minutes. Everything takes place in one room from the minute you arrive to the time you leave with your bundle of screaming joy. They even do all the medical procedures on the baby right there in your room-- everything except circumcision. There is no nursery; there is a "baby lounge," where the baby can be taken if you need a break.

The room is pretty big, but Tim pointed out that they listed off about 10 different people who will be present with trays of equipment when the big moment comes, so it may get crowded for a while. The bed I'm supposed to sleep in looks uncomfortable as hell. I can only hope they keep the dope flowing freely enough after the birth for me to be able to sleep. Tim's got to sleep in a chair. Ha! I may grant him permission to go home and nap if he's good. After all, one of us should probably be well rested when we get home with the baby. There's a big jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. They say that's nice to soak in after the event, but I don't know if I can ever be convinced that it's clean enough for me to put my naked, bleeding ass in.

After we left, we decided it was time to go buy a crib, finally. We had found one at Wal Mart that we thought would do the trick, and all we needed to do was go get it and put it together, right? Wrong. The only cribs they had in stock at any of the three Wal Marts was the cheapest crib you can imagine. I wouldn't put my kid's teddy bear to sleep in something so flimsy. After looking online at several websites recommended to me by a friend, I realized that non-Wal-Mart cribs are insanely overpriced, and Wal Mart has tons that are really cute and affordable. They will also ship most of them to the store for free. So today I'm going to narrow it down to three to five options. Maybe we will have a poll on which one I should get. Let the people decide, I say.

In other news, Aunt C is continuing her latest campaign in c*ntdom. Her latest move was to remove everyone else in the family from the list of people who are allowed to use those airline tickets. You know, the ones my grandmother gets for free because my grandfather retired from American forty years ago. It's a super shitty move on her part, especially since they're not hers to withhold, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let her know I care. The only reason she did it is because that is the ONLY thing she could use as a power play. Everyone else in the family has basically refused to bail her out of her latest predicament, which makes us all assholes from her point of view. If people decide to make a big deal out of her latest move, I say she wins. I say we ignore her. Having someone like Aunt C in the family is like having herpes. It can stay quiet for so long that you forget it's there, but every once in a while it flares up and becomes a giant pain in the ass. Oh, and there's no cure. Not that I have herpes, mind you. But Aunt C might.

In still other news, my mother, who just turned 58 on Monday, broke a rib and tore a gigantic chunk of meat out of her leg yesterday. She was riding a motorcycle. I don't know if I have mentioned this before or not, but my dad bought himself and my mother each motorcycles recently. Mom has no desire to ride, but since Dad's suddenly into it she's giving it a shot. This is the second time she's turned hers over; she just got scraped up a little the first time. I'm not real keen on the idea of my mom getting killed on a motorcycle that she didn't care to ride in the first place, so I'm hoping this injury will mark the end of her biker days.