Sure we learned stellar birth positions (see exhibit A - gotta love squatting), how to breathe (in through the nose, out through the mouth - got it) and what to pack for the hospital - but mostly, we laughed. A LOT. (But only on the inside, or once we were safely out of earshot.) Reason being? Our instructor was off-the-charts hilarious. Equal parts intensity, passion, knowledge and a bent toward "el natural/granola" will do it.
The 4-week series started out day one with her warning the men in the room that their laboring partners will be - and I quote - harnessing their inner wild woman, as they draw within and go into "the labor zone." (Great, now I've got the Top Gun soundtrack stuck in my head). She then expertly re-enacted "the labor moan" complete with closed eyes and swaying hips. This fun little demo would repeat itself several times throughout each class, the entire duration of the series. Jared and I quickly learned NOT to make eye contact with each other, lest we want to unleash a flood of immature giggles.
And then BAM - just when we thought we'd made it through the worst - she unleashed a zinger of a quote that no one could possibly be expected to endure maturely. When backing up her rationale for completing the majority of your laboring at home, and in an environment conducive to relaxation (music, dim lights, candles, etc.) she said, "If you're open here (pointing at her head - aka "open minded"), and open here (pointing at heart), you'll be open down here" (pointing at what can only appropriate called the birth canal) ... followed by "if you know what I mean" ... followed by INTENSE eye contact with everyone in the room, one by one. I have never struggled so hard in my life to keep it together and I swear, if I'd even seen the teensiest shoulder shake out of Jared from the corner of my eye, I would have ended up on the floor, fetal position, laughing until I cried. My saving grace was a healthy fear of our lovely birthing coach.
She continued to entertain - vividly recounting her own birth experience (including resentment for an epidural when other options could have been presented); suggesting ways to get your labor moving along, including but not limited to "making out" ... (don't hold your breath, hubby); and using us students as props. Let me explain.
Early on, a favorite preggers was identified by the instructor - a self-proclaimed yoga enthusiast and staunch proponent of drug-free labors. Naturally, everyone else in the room hated her. Anytime the instructor needed a volunteer to demonstrate a position, she'd choose Miss Flexible, but not before pointedly asking her, "Can I touch you appropriately?" (To which, what else can she possibly reply but yes?) It goes without saying that Jared and I found this completely hysterical.
Well if she was Miss Flexible, then I was Miss Hilariously and Pathetically Inflexible, corroborated by the instructor herself during the last class, when she suggested I might want to modify a certain position to be "more comfortable for me." (Again, see exhibit A - squatting).
All in all, we learned a lot and she helped get us excited about labor (which is quite the accomplishment). Not only was it money well spent, but oddly enough, became a fun weekly "date night" for us!
Cheers to harnessing my inner wild woman!
