When I was pregnant with Beege, we decided that we needed to take a prenatal class. Just reading What To Expect When You're Expecting wasn't going to cut it, because all it really did was make me fear for my (and my baby's) life. Each little twinge became the baby making a necktie out of the cord, or possibly a placental rupture. It's very disconcerting, pregnancy.
So. Prenatal classes were offered at the hospital where I'd be delivering, and I figured it was a good idea to know ahead of time exactly where we would be rushing to, with me in a wheel chair while I screamed at the top of my lungs about killing my husband. (Again, I blame TV.)
We started the class a few months before I was due, and it was taught by a woman named Elaine. She was very nice, but a little wacky, and dressed like a clown.
You think I'm being mean, but I mean that she actually, literally, dressed like a clown. One of my favourite outfits was a pair of pants that were (if I remember correctly) black and yellow plaid. They were kind of puffy and cinched just above the ankle. This was worn with a puffy shirt (purple?) with a giant bow on the front. And a beret. Or maybe I'm thinking more of a golfer than a clown. Or maybe a clown golfing.
Anyway. We learned all kinds of things in this class. We learned how to make an emergency diaper out of one of your husband's shirts. We learned valuable time saving strategies for the first weeks baby is home, like don't bother folding laundry, just have a clean basket and a dirty basket because you will be doing laundry constantly. She also kept telling us that baby pee is sterile; I'm still not quite sure why that was so important. We also learned where the fridge was in the maternity ward; which was personally invaluable. I have never enjoyed miscellaneous meat sandwiches as much as I did in the hours after Beege's birth.
We also learned that while it's important to make a birthing plan so that you feel a modicum of control, it's also important to realise that in reality, you have absolutely no control so you shouldn't get too attached. This also turned out to be great advice, considering that I had planned on having a natural birth and ended up being induced and heavily medicated.
BUT. The most important piece of advice that I took away from that class is the one that I will now impart to you. It wasn't for the pregnant women, it was for the support people:
If, in the days following the birth of this baby, you happen across a sandwich that you yourself did not prepare, DO NOT EAT THE SANDWICH. If you eat that sandwich, which the mother probably prepared in the two seconds she had to herself before she ran to see why the baby was crying, you may die. Or at least be resented for the rest of your natural life. (Okay, I added that second part.)
For me, at least, this advice still applies. Do NOT eat my sandwich. Or you may die.