Blood of Eden

Birthing class continued to be a barrel of laughs or, say, NOT, given that one of the participants has been put on bedrest for non-stop contractions (she was the one on the floor surrounded by pillows, no kidding), and if you’d seen the look on the faces of everyone else in the room, it was like a balloon full of germs EXPLODED and we were all afraid of getting them in our nostrils.

Although truth be told, I wouldn’t mind attending birthing class while lying supine on a bed of smooshy pillows, rather than lame-ass conference room chairs the rest of us shlubs are stuck in, but not at the cost of bedrest. I hate to be in bed as it is, as since being pregnant, bed has moved from being a source of comfort to being the equivalent of a torture device. Bed is fraught with backaches and pain and misery, oh my!

In case you were wondering, the knitted uterus was once again the star of the show, and I was shocked — shocked, I tell you! — to discover that there was a BABY inside the knitted uterus, as well as a stuffed placenta! And a knitted umbilical cord! And they TOTALLY SHOWED THE BABY CROWNING THROUGH THE KNITTED UTERUS, followed by placenta delivery and all sorts of sordid birth details, wrapped up neatly in a blue-striped package.

Interestingly, we also covered the possibility of saving our placenta, in case we wanted to bury it, or, uh, eat it, and while half the class chuckled (or in my case, alternated between snickering and gagging),the husband of the bedrest woman announced that no, really, his culture (I think he said he was Indonesian?) did such things — they either ate it, or dried it out and presented it to the baby later in life as a gift. And then we all felt a little ridiculous, but really, what were the chances that we had a placenta snacker in our midst? SLIM TO NONE, REALLY.

We also discussed whether we wanted a mirror during the, uh, proceedings, and I can say with total certainty that I do not, nor do I want Adam acting as a verbal mirror. “STAY BY MY HEAD, ADAM” is my birth motto, thank you very much.

Anyway. I’m off to take a defy gravity the only way I know how: through a hot bath and some Marley & Me which someone gave me as “lighthearted” reading, and while it’s fine, if vapid and not my usual fare, it always annoys me to read mediocre books about universal experiences, because damn, I know a thousand people who could have written that book just as well. (Am critical asshole!) But first! Two things!

- Speaking of books, I could not get through The Outlander series. Not even BOOK ONE. Too much absurd 18th century sex for me that, as I said before, was not titillating, but was instead RIDICULOUS, and the whole thing was just … well, RIDICULOUS. If you really want a hilarious recount of precisely what makes them so comically awful, please e-mail my friend Jessica of Balancing Everything (and congratulate her on her brand-new baby while you’re at it), who sent me the most side-splitting take on the absurdity of the whole series. It’s so good, I believe it should be published somewhere. (Hint: she’s not a fan.)

- Reba McIntyre is one of those people I want to punch in the face for absolutely no defensible reason. Occasionally, I’ll TiVo WifeSwap (I KNOW. It’s a PROBLEM, and I CANNOT STOP) to have as background while I do administrative bullshit and hence, at the end of the day, our TV is often set to Lifetime, and Reba is on and my God, I … I can’t take her for more than a second. I don’t know why. (I KNOW I KNOW WIFESWAP I KNOW)

Happy Thursday!

*Peter Gabriel. The placenta theme sent me down a gross, bloody path.

47 comments January 14th, 2009