It's a.... smartass!

Dear Burby:

As you are well aware, today is the day we were supposed to find out your sex. This was big for us because it meant we could start buying gender-appropriate onesies, get started on decorating your room, and perhaps even decide on a name other than Burby, Burglet, Burgito/Burgita, or Strong Bad.

But the joke was on us, as you kept your legs tightly crossed and clamped together through the whole ultrasound while we poked around helplessly. I’m sure you thought this was hilarious. You are clearly our child. I think the Doppler even picked up some muffled laughter. Honestly, the smartass in me is fighting the urge to be proud. At least at 19 weeks we know you are the appropriate size and species. And that’s about it.

We love you no matter what and are very happy to see you are thriving and exercising your smartass genes so early on. I believe you may be a prodigy in that regard. But we do urge you to be more of a team player next time, unless you just really like green and yellow.

Love,

Mom and Dad

Adios, Fockers.

So last week I got a phone call from the moderator of our childbirth education program. Apparently she was “very concerned” that the Fockers were not adequately sticking to the script of the planned curriculum they had in mind for the program.

Really lady? What tipped you off? The viewing of the “Orgasmic Birth” video series? The assertion that medically administered pain control is unnatural, unnecessary, and an impediment to a truly memorable sacred birthing experience? Or maybe it was the suggestion that we give birth outside in our back yards on all fours and let our husbands “catch” the baby while our nearby “dream catcher” protects us from bad energy while letting the good energy flow right through.

Whatever it was, the Fockers were swiftly and unceremoniously placed outside the circle of trust and replaced by a labor and delivery nurse to teach the rest of our classes. Our second class was in a hospital, with a much more medical/scientific focus.

At first I was a little sad, because I was enjoying the Fockers. It was like having that lovable yet unpredictable friend, where you don’t know what’s going to come out of her mouth in a crowded room next, but you gladly fetch her drinks and snuggle in for the show. BUT, as it turns out, Gavin and I really enjoyed the class with the nurse, because we actually learned what the eff is going on with my body now, and what to expect over the next few months and finally with the labor and delivery stuff IN A HOSPITAL. Since we were always going to go the hospital/epidural route no matter what, this is much more our speed. We still did breathing relaxation exercises at the end, so that was a nice earthy touch.

What else, what else. Watched a lot of HBO this weekend… some movies, like Recount, which was cool because a lot of it was filmed right here in the 'Hass, but mostly reruns of Big Love and True Blood. Oh how I love HBO. I think it’s because I was never allowed to watch it growing up, because there were naked people on HBO, so I missed Fraggle Rock every single week, and that really stung. So now I’m like an addict with a table full of snow….. aaaahhhhhh HBO. Drugs aren’t funny. But there are some great shows on this channel, so if you’re not currently subscribing to or stealing HBO, please do consider it.

Hope everyone has a great week!

Meet the Fockers

So last week Gavin and I went to our first childbirth class. One perk of living in a college town is that you can take advantage of all the University offers. For example, FSU has a program for first-time parents that is supposed to be really good, AND it's totally free as long as you are selected to participate. Our doctor informed us about it, so Gavin and I thought, what the hell. We completed a few questionnaires and an interview and were selected, so off we went to the first class.

The people who teach it are a husband and wife. They are prob in their late 50s/early 60s, are certified for all this childbirth stuff as educators, doulas, midwives, etc., and are extremely qualified. They are lovely people. To them, the birth experience is "the most sacred life event" there is. Essentially, they are the Fockers from Meet the Fockers. I know I will love them.

The classes are held at their house, so we show up there for our first meeting. The first thing we have to do is take off our shoes, sit on the floor in a circle, light candles for all the mothers giving birth that day, take deep cleansing breaths, find our "centers", share with the group about "what our birth story looks like" and describe all our fears, anxieties, etc. Not exactly what I was expecting, but whatevs. I’m a student of life, here to learn, rollin' with it.

The best part, however, was when they explained to us that childbirth, when allowed to occur naturally (that is, no drugs whatsoever) can be an "orgasmic" experience. Literally. As in, you actually have a massive orgasm as you give birth. Beg your pardon? No effing way, lady. But yes, and they showed us videos to prove it. The videos basically consisted of present-day hippies giving birth outside in their backyards, on all fours, and experiencing what they swore were orgasms. WTF is all I have to say. We saw everything, and I mean everything. And heard everything. And what we were hearing just didn’t seem to go with what we were seeing. Part of me felt like I was watching porn. Frightening, confusing porn. Porn that completely misses the point.

The classes ended with a “dream catcher” ceremony that explained the purpose of the Native American dream catcher and how we can use one in the delivery room to help us give birth. We are told that the classes will become more scientific and medical and technical, but wow, how bout that for an introduction. Next class is Wednesday!

What else, what else. Well, I was sick all weekend with a terrible head/chest cold thing. Gavin took care of me, brought me a humidifier and anything else I wanted besides actual medication, since I can’t take jack. Yayyyy Gavin! I wason the couch all weekend watching stuff we have saved on our DVR. We always have a bunch of murder mystery 20/20s or 48 Hours Mystery episodes on there for times like this. I was watching one when Gavin walked in after mowing the lawn. Here’s how that went:

Gavin: What are you watching?

Me: 48 Hours Mystery.

Gavin: Without me?!

Me: (thinking: shat.) Um, well it’s nothing exciting, honeybear.. just your typical husband-kills-wife episode.

Gavin: You know those are my favorite. (walks away in a fake huff)

Hahaha – love that guy!

Hope everyone has a great week!