Birthing class

Last night we had a birthing class in our home. Originally there was going to be another couple there, but they broke up, so it was just Jeff and I. Jeff hadn't been too keen on taking a birthing class (mainly because he read all the wrong parts of Birthing From Within and thought any nontraditional birthing class would be all about co-chanting and creating a partnership with your unborn baby). Anyway, the midwife who was teaching the class showed up with her things at quarter to six and set up her little ritual candle and placed a small statue of a pregnant Lucy (our hominid forebear) on the table. I was a little concerned about what was going through Jeff's mind at that point, but he maintained his composure well. The midwife explained the birthing process, showed Jeff how to rub my back in labor (very nice!), explained how NOT to touch a woman in labor (don't just diddle around without intention, and don't talk to her when she's in a contraction), did an exercise with icewater (more on that later) and talked me through a guided meditation, where you visualize contractions as waves in the ocean (which might have been more calming before the tsunami).

The ice exercise was really helpful. First she had Jeff do it. He put his hand in a bucket of ice water for 45 seconds (while I talked to him normally) and then took it out for 45 seconds. Then he put it in again for 45 more seconds, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. Then, out for 45 seconds, and back in for 45 seconds. This time he wandered around the house with his hand in the bowl of water while I talked to him and rubbed his back. Afterward, it was my turn. I was surprised at how painful ice water can be! I also found it helpful to have Jeff try to distract me, and to concentrate on my breathing and focus on the pain. Walking around aimlessly didn't help quite as much, but it could be useful if the contractions weren't too intense. All in all, it was a useful exercise, and one that I might practice again.

OK, I'm starving now, Nature calls, and I must go home.