Nesting

Time is flying right along and here I am in the middle of my 26th week (or 7th month for those non-moms out there). Complete strangers have taken to asking me when my due date is and whether or not I intend to breastfeed. While I'm relieved to finally know I absolutely do look pregnant and not just bloated, I'm not so excited to be receiving breastfeeding tips from men while in line to buy popcorn at the movie theater. But I guess these are the sacrifices we make in order to bring new life into the world.

The advancement of my pregnancy also means that we've begun making our way into the Center for Health Education at the nearby hospital. This past week, we attended both the Pain Management and Maternity Ward Tour classes. I can't say the Pain Management class taught me anything I couldn't have read about but there was a level of comfort in meeting some of the anesthesiologists I may encounter in June, and there's nothing like sitting in the midst of a lecture hall packed to the brim with extremely pregnant women and their partners. You get to laugh at the silliness of people's questions (like asking the neonatologist if the post-delivery checks they do on babies are really necessary--c'mon, what do you think a medical doctor is going to say to that?) and you get to listen in awe to the really smart people (we sat next to a medical doctor whose wife is pregnant; he opened our eyes to things like blood patches and other terms that I can't even pronounce, let alone spell). But strangest of all, you get to participate in the herd of waddling pregnant women tripping over lecture chairs trying to make it to the bathroom before the end of each 5 minute break. Best of all, you get to check out these same pregnant women's shoes from under stall doors. (We can't wear heels, remember? It's like relearning shoe fashion all over again. Close-toed wedges with buckles and bows seem popular.)

That was Tuesday night. Sunday afternoon was the maternity tour. We started off in a room with one long table filled with water pitchers and cookies and another long table filled with "literature." We learned about the hospital's professional baby photographers, social security scams, the local doula association, free valet parking, and visiting hours. I started off scribbling frantically while the tour guide spit out information; when I missed visiting hours and Craig admitted to having not paid any attention whatsoever, I scowled. When he told me I "probably don't need to write out everything," I scowled harder. But it turns out he was right; at the very end of the tour, we were given a sheet with all the information pre-printed on it. That would have been helpful to know at the beginning!

The tour itself was a lot of fun, though. There were second-, third-, and fourth-time moms asking if they're allowed to request their newborns be put in the nursery alongside newbies like me asking if we're allowed to keep them in the room with us. There were pregnant teenagers alongside 40-somethings and scowling grandmothers who wanted to make sure that "all these girls know they might be given an enema."

The labor/delivery/recovery rooms are gorgeous, by the way. They're large and have bassinets, hospital beds, and pull-out couches. There's a jacuzzi tub for "laboring only," rich jewel colors on the walls, seascape paintings, and dim lights. When delivery time comes, there's concentrated spotlights in the ceiling that follow the movement of a "wand" that nurses use to direct the light where it's needed. We were told this was to maintain a relaxing environment for the mother. In the past, we were told, women complained about the bright lights that were necessary.

The room they stick you in after "recovery" is not so nice. I was disappointed to learn that "recovery" takes only 2-6 hours and that we only get this really great room for the amount of time that we're in so much pain we won't even be able to enjoy it. Once we've rested a bit and the baby is stable, we get shuttled off to the older wing to rooms that actually look like hospital rooms, with beige walls bereft of any artwork and bright blue telephones with interpreter services. We were told that in eight years they've never had to use double occupancy in these rooms and that they "hope" they're able to maintain that. You'd better "hope" that! You'd better hope I don't end up being the first woman in the history of this new maternity ward to be doubled up with someone!

So the classes have been good. Perhaps the most useful aspect of the classes, though, has been that Craig was able to practice out our labor route to the hospital. Tuesday night, as we're running late for the Pain Management class, he foolishly headed east instead of west from our house. I pointed out the error of his way and he argued a bit, but when we went west Sunday afternoon on our way to the Maternity Tour, he grudgingly admitted I'd been right. "See?" I told him. "Aren't you glad we learned this now instead of in two months' time when I'm screaming and crying and less patient with you?"

Yes, indeed, he is! After all, my way shaved off a whole 5 minutes. We're exactly 7 minutes from the hospital--not 12. And you know, in the process of a 4+ hour birth, 5 minutes is a big deal.