The Childbirth Preparation Refresher Course: A Misanthrope's Guide

Since we have about seven weeks to go before Baby Girl (whose womb-name, it's been decided, is "Princess Buttercup") arrives, Beth and I figured it would be a good idea to take our hospital's crash course in birthin' for repeat parents. The hospital's official name for the program is the Childbirth Preparation Refresher Express Class, which, oddly, or maybe not, acronyms down to ChiBPREC. I had mixed feelings about attending - not because I didn't think I needed the info, but because other people would actually be in the class, and there was a very good chance that some of them would speak to me, with the expectation that I would reply in some manner. Frankly, that's not how I roll. I go into these courses like a 101st Airborne paratrooper goes into his D-Day H-Hour Minus 12 pre-jump briefing: I need the intel that will keep me and mine alive during this crucial mission. I want data, diagrams, numbers, plaster models of pelvic bones with movable parts. The "sharing of feelings and experiences"...fie! Fie I say!  Well, it being 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday, I figured there was a good chance that none of the other 16 people who had signed up for the class would show.

Of course, everyone did show. I won't go into details - labor, "transition", push, baby, "Dad, it's your turn! Cut that cord!", go home, raise child. But I will point out a few of the highlights.

• Overenthusiastic Birth Dad! - As you know, I am a flag bearer for the Dads Are Parents Too movement. The father carries an equally important load in the entire process of bringing a kid into the world, and ensuring that the kid grows up happy, healthy, and Not Evil. "We" is a word that Beth and often use when discussing our parenting with others. That said, in the class, there was Skippy (not his real name). Skippy, when asked about his wife's previous birthing experience, said (and I quote) "Well, we were in labor for 12 hours, and we pushed for about an hour." Dude, when it comes to the actual process of squeezing a child out from 'twixt one's labia, there is no we. Unless your wife takes a sock full of batteries and clubs you in the nuts with it every time a contraction hits, you're pretty much Goose to her Maverick.  Actually, not even - you're the guy in the tower who gets the coffee all over his uni when Mav does a fly-by. Backrubs, ice chips, and moral support - that's our job when it's go-time, no shame in it.  (I'd love to be a fly on the wall at this couple's breastfeeding class - "We were having trouble with the baby latching, so we decided to just let my wife do the nursing.")
• Self-Proclaimed "Crunchy Mom"! - It's admirable that you want to have a natural unmedicated birth. And it's ok that you "hate IV's and would never want to have drugs while having a baby". But "those stupid things with all of the wires that they put on me", those are called fetal monitors, and "the nurses coming in and poking me and looking at me and bothering me with questions", well, they do that not to annoy you, but to make sure you and your baby are ok, and had we been without one or the other when Beth's delivery took a turn for the worse...yes, birth is the most natural thing the female body can do, and women were squatting down in the hay and popping out the kid even as the Visigoths were lobbing balls of flaming pitch over the walls of Rome, but when shit goes wrong, it's the doctors, nurses, and all the stupid things with wires that will save you and your baby's life, not your Lucky Astrology Mood Watch.

Actually, that's all I can think of. Plus Curb Your Enthusiasm's on.