The first lesson we learned was what PuddleBaby would and would not look like after the great escape. PuddleMama and I had a fairly heated debate (although we were whispering not to disturb the rest of the class) over which new-born appearance "traits" we would like the least. They range from unshaped flat-heads to extreme-cone shaped heads, from blotchy red skin to peeling gray skin, from inflamed family jewels to inflamed girly parts. You get the idea. (FYI, for those loyal readers who know, yes, I did have "We da same!" running through my head when we discussed the cone-head shaped trait.) PuddleMama and I agreed we'll just pick "none of the above." Is that an option?
The second lesson I learned was a little more indirect. It was never directly discussed as a subject, but whenever I thought about the labor process, even knowing some labors last many hours or even days, I still pictured it a fairly fast process surrounded by nurses and doctors and maybe even a comic janitor a la Scrubs. What I didn't picture, but was really presented with over the course of the weekend, was the number of hours (days?!) I will spend with PuddleMama alone in our hospital room dealing with contraction after contraction after contraction with only a nurse checking up on us every once in awhile.
Yes, I am trying to say that I didn't realize how difficult this process would be for ME. I realize I am risking the wrath and scorn of every female reader I have, but this blog is, after-all, called "PuddleDaddy" and not "PuddleMama." And I am not comparing my pain to what PuddleMama's pain will be (although seriously, they don't offer me any stinking epidural) but in my mind I always pictured myself having a pretty damn good time during labor knowing it's my kid's birthday. I didn't picture myself hour after hour pressing PuddleMama's butt-cheeks together or watching her in extreme pain with no option to take any of the (physical) pain away. Hey, the old "it hurts me more than it hurts you" saying definitely applies here.
We did learn that if PuddleMama has a c-section I get my very own nurse to attend to just me! I am pretty excited about this. I have made a mental list in my head of all the requests I would have just in case. I've probably angered all my female readers enough, so I'll keep those requests to myself, but hand-massages and Snickers are near the top.
Shaken Baby Syndrome (and how to avoid it) was another "lesson," although I'm not quite sure how they stretched the three second lesson "don't shake you're baby" into an hour long topic. Most of this time PuddleMama and I engaged in a classic ""If you shake my baby, I will *insert extremely inappropriate, rude, and painful action here*
More lessons followed, but those were the most blog-notable. At the end of the class, the nurse-teacher asked who was more nervous after the class than they were before. Surprisingly, I was the only one (of 30 couples) who raised my hand. I'm pretty sure this means that I was the only daddy in the whole class who paid attention, but who knows. The next question was "Who is more excited?" which was answered by 30 mommy's (including PuddleMama) immediately shooting their hand's into the air (the other hand resting protectively on their respective belly.) At risk of starting a whole mars/venus discussion, I think my jaw dropped nearly as much at that response as at the live birth videos. How could all that class information not have scared the baby out of them?!
I am truly and honestly excited about PuddleBaby (if you don't believe me you haven't been reading this blog.) The class did not lessen this excitement- it did not however, increase any level even remotely related to excitement. Nervous and nervous-related levels went through the roof. Maybe I was already maxed out on excitement and this was just what I needed. PuddleMama, you want to practice those butt-cheek counter-pressure squeezes?
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