I’ve mentioned in passing that my cousin, Yorii (not her real name– I know, a shock) is pregnant. She reached a certain age and, still single, decided she would take matters into her own hands. One donor and some hilarious and heart-breaking antics later, she’s seven months along.
In her exceptional wisdom she has decided that it is I that she wants as a coach, supporter and cheerleader in this process. So my duties will include helping her through labor, driving to the hospital (that is going to S-U-C-K), fighting for her wishes in the delivery room, keeping the ice water (no ice chips!) coming, cutting the umbilical cord (squishy!) and many other tasks that vary between exciting, scary, deeply emotional and gross.
This weekend was the childbirth class. Two days, eight hours each and loaded with lots of interesting information. Also a lot of very disgusting videos. Right now I feel quite prepared, which is surely quite misleading. I’m much more concerned about my preparation in two months time and my stamina for the whole process. I’m also a little concerned that seeing a woman have a baby will sear my memory and I’ll never want to have a child of my own. I’ll be sure to report on that post-partum.
I learned tons of cool words and anatomical details in class. Again, I’ll spare you the really horrible stuff and give you an innocuous example. The top of the uterus, which contracts and bunches up as the woman goes through labor (in order for the cervix, at the bottom, to open) is called the fundus. The spell-checker has no clue what that is. To me it sounds like a party-platter. Woohoo!