Last Night of Baby Class

Last night was the last night of baby birthing class (we still have breastfeeding, newborn care, and carseat safety class to go). I think they may have saved some of the worst info for last (though I didn't think it would get worse than watching a 20-year-old video of on overweight, sweaty woman giving birth--with a giant mirror at the end of the bed so she could see what was happening. Ugh.)

Anyway, last night was the night the nurse pulled out the bag of "after-birth goodies." That's when I found out how long I'd bleed afterward. That's when I saw the giant diaper pads we get in the hospital. That's when they pulled out the squirt bottle and said this is how we'll want to wipe ourselves for the next few weeks. Warm water, not cold. And then there were Preparation H wipes. Oh, and they mentioned more than a few times the stitches. I tried to tell Jess all of this, but she did not seem interested in hearing it. "Oh, but I'll be the best person to talk to when you have a baby," I told her. "I'll tell you everything that people don't tell you." She didn't seem interested in that either.

But then I told her the interesting thing about pregnancy. I told her that I was super scared by all of this at the beginning, that the idea of actually pushing something out of there terrified me. But the longer you're pregnant, the less you care. You've felt this baby rolling and kicking and moving around inside you for so long, you're ready for her to come out so you can actually see her and hold her. You don't care anymore how that happens. You accept your fate and know that if it were really that bad, people would not have siblings. I was number 3, after all. If it were that bad, I wouldn't even exist. (Yes, I gave my mom extra props last Sunday on Mother's Day. I think I get it now.)